


The Descent

by peet4paint



Series: Life as a Parabola [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Abduction, Bondage, Dark, Dubious Consent, Humiliation, M/M, Non Consensual, Painplay, Sexual Violence, Silence Kink, Slavery, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, Violence, Watersports, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-14
Updated: 2011-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-27 07:48:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peet4paint/pseuds/peet4paint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The trip to Veracruz doesn't go quite as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Descent

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a [prompt](http://glee-kink-meme.livejournal.com/14588.html?thread=21146108#t21146108) at the glee_kink_meme. Thanks so much to everyone who read and commented over there. Also written for [nanowrimo](http://www.nanowrimo.org/en/dashboard). And also for kink_bingo, fills the squares mind control, wet messy dirty, consent play, gangbang, sleepy/unconscious, washing/cleaning, possession/marking, obedience, bodily secretions, silence, gags, authority figures, and the center square for orgasm denial. (Still no bingo, though.)
> 
> Huge thanks to River not only reading this thing but actually betaing it. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy, and yet she was willing to take it on.
> 
> This is, by far, the darkest thing I've ever written. DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY NON-CON. Concrit is, as always, welcome.
> 
> Oh, and one more thing: THIS SERIES IS NOT KURT/BLAINE ENDGAME. It's mainly gen right now and will eventually be Kurt/Puck.

_Tuesday, June 12, 2012_

The first thing Kurt feels is pain. It sweeps over him, thudding through his temples and over the back of his neck. He opens his eyes to be met with the sight of a dirty tile floor. He closes them again, tries to push himself up into a sitting position only to find his wrists bound tightly behind his back.

His heart drops to his stomach.

This is not happening. This is not what’s supposed to be happening tonight. He’s supposed to be shopping for his boyfriend. He’s supposed to be finding the perfect little something hidden amidst the squalor of Veracruz’s street markets.

He opens his mouth, chokes out a, “Help,” voice dry as dust. He coughs, tries again, “Help!”

A noise comes to him then, door slamming and feet stomping closer, closer, until they’re kicking him in the side. When he rolls over to his side, they kick him in the stomach instead. A string of rapid words explode from mouths that are too far away. It’s Spanish. At least, he thinks it’s Spanish.

“What—I—I don’t speak Spanish. Please? Help. Please stop!” Kurt says, voice cracking with emotion.

A kick lands harder than all the rest directly on his kidney. He keens out a sob, body curling into a ball protectively. “Please!”

A voice comes then, louder than all the rest. It’s from the direction he thinks the door is. It’s still Spanish, still impossible to translate. But he can pretty much determine the meaning from the fact that the kicking stops almost as suddenly as it began.

The man walks closer and the others part to let him through. Kurt can see a pair of pristine boots. He turns his head, sees a pair of incongruously white pants—also perfectly clean. That’s about as far as he gets when a hand is suddenly in his hair, tugging his head back at a sharp painful angle.

Kurt can see the man then, body round and short, face rounder yet. _He looks a little like a frog_ , Kurt thinks, biting back hysterical laughter.

“You!” says the man, and suddenly Kurt doesn’t understand how he could ever have thought the man was a frog. He isn’t. Obviously. The man is a bull, breathing snorting breaths through his nose, eyes flashing with hatred and anger. “You do _not_ speak. You do not _run_. You do what we say. And maybe— _maybe_ —we let you live.”

Kurt feels tears forming then. “But—I don’t under—“

The first slap is a shock.

The second ends with a fist hitting him where it hurts the worst. He blacks out—and for the second before the darkness takes over all he feels is gratitude.

 _June 13, 2012—Morning_

Kurt wakes to pain and sweat. He feels the warmth almost overpowering him, humidity settling over him like a blanket. His bones hurt, his body aching all over.

A hand lands on his butt, the sharp smack echoing in the nearly empty room.

There are words again, a rapid string of Spanish. He’s about to say, “ _I don’t speak Spanish,_ ” when he catches himself—remembers what happened the last time he opened his mouth. He still gets cuffed on the back of his head, but it’s light, nowhere near as violent as yesterday. Then there are hands tugging him up, keeping him upright with a fist around the ropes tying his wrists together. His head spins. He feels the bottom drop out of his stomach, certain that in the next thirty seconds he’s going to vomit.

The man—at least Kurt assumes it’s a man—tugs him through a different door from the one yesterday. This one leads to a bathroom. Kurt is almost led to tears. He manages to make it to the toilet before he loses his lunch. It’s mostly just bile, everything else having worked through his system already.

The voice comes again, this time sounding disgusted. It’s so _fast_ , how can Kurt hope to understand it? But then there are hands, tugging him back upright. One of them remains tight around his wrists, while the other one—

The other one is opening his slacks.

Kurt hears his blood rushing through his ears, feels his body break into a cold sweat. It’s—it can’t be. This _can’t_ be what they want him for. Although when he tries to think of what else they might possibly want from him he comes up blank.

There’s a hand around his penis then, although what the man could possibly be getting from it, Kurt doesn’t know. He’s soft as a ten-year-old and going to stay that way. But then, some men like that, right? Isn’t that why there are pedophiles alive in the world?

The voice comes from behind him, insistent. Over and over again, the same syllables come. At first Kurt ignores them. He doesn’t know Spanish, doesn’t want to know Spanish. And these are hardly the most ideal conditions to learn Spanish in. But the word gets slower, voice loud in his ear but not violent. “Orine,” it says. “Orine.” And the hand isn’t doing anything perverse, like Kurt thought it would. It’s just sort of holding him there, almost—almost like how Kurt holds himself when he…

And then he gets it. In a flash it comes through. He’s in a bathroom. And his hands are tied behind him. He—the man wants him to—to _urinate_.

His body relaxes infinitesimally, but considering how terrified his was only a minute ago it’s easy enough to just let go and let his body do exactly what the scary Mexican thug is telling it to. He urinates for what seems like forever. It’s been forever—too long, his body is telling him. And afterward the man gives him a little shake and tucks him away. And then he’s being propped against a wall, mostly upright, while the man walks over to the dingy little sink and washes his hands.

Kurt looks at the man and he isn’t scary at all. He’s shaped like a teddy bear, soft stomach and thighs, tall but not imposingly so. When he turns back to face Kurt, he meets Kurt’s eyes. And Kurt can see a lot of things there, but he can’t see anger.

He grabs Kurt again and marches him from the bathroom—dropping him into a sprawl on the floor. And when he comes back with food half-an-hour later, Kurt can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Kurt’s found himself an ally.

 _June 13, 2012—Afternoon_

After the teddy-bear Mexican feeds him a sandwich, he’s left alone for what feels like hours. Time seems to stand still for Kurt. He’s stuck in this endless thought loop of what he did wrong, how he screwed up. Somehow he must have brought this upon himself. And then his thoughts turn the other direction. Why is it _Kurt_ here? What could they possibly want from him?

It doesn’t bear thinking about, but he can’t stop his mind from turning the same direction it went before. He father isn’t exactly poor, but he isn’t worth enough money to make Kurt a good kidnapping victim. Kurt doesn’t have any special skill sets, isn’t known as any type of diplomat. There is no reason, no reason at all, to kidnap him.

But he’s here in this grungy Mexican cabin and he’s got to figure out how to get out of this place, this situation.

He starts composing a list of what he knows. First off, there’s the fact that there are at least—four?—probably more men holding him hostage. One of them is the bull-like guy in the white suit and boots. He’s also old, older than Kurt’s father. And he speaks English almost as good as a native. _Probably the leader,_ Kurt thinks, remembering the way the others just stopped when he spoke.

There’s also the teddy-bear guy. He doesn’t seem to speak English, but he at least tries to make himself understood. He’s younger—from the brief glimpse Kurt caught he would place the guy at about twenty-five. He has a goatee and not-mean eyes.

Really none of that helps a whole lot, though. No matter how not-mean the teddy-bear guy is, Kurt can’t see the guy helping him escape.

So Kurt thinks about what else he knows. He’s probably not in Veracruz anymore, but that doesn’t really bear thinking about.

 _What else? What else?_ he thinks, knowing there has to be something that will help him. He’s facing the wall again, but he caught a quick glance of the room when he was walking back from the bathroom. It’s big, a great room with tiles from wall to wall. It’s mostly unfurnished, almost like they moved in at the same time he did. There’s a little kitchen in the corner with old appliances, but ones that probably work considering the cold sandwich he’d eaten before. So at least he’s not going to starve out here. Wherever here is.

There’s a bathroom, too, with running water. And it seems as if they’ll allow him to use it rather than forcing him to lie in his own squalor.

But none of that is going to help him escape. None of that is going to help him at all.

 _Think. Think. What can you use? What can you use against them?_ He knows there is something. There has to be something. _Front door?_ But no, that’s not right. There are only two entrances to the room he’s in—the bathroom and wherever all of the men head to when they aren’t kicking the stuffing out of Kurt. _Phone?_ he thinks, desperately. He can’t remember one, though. There’s none in the room, he’s at least seventy percent sure of that. And the men—there were no telling bulges in any of their pockets. None of them had one with them that Kurt could see.

He needs to look at the room, figure out what else there is. There has to be something. He wriggles until he can flip around, and then he sees it. There are bars on all the windows.

The tears come suddenly. Not that they matter. There’s no one here to judge him for them now.

 _June 13, 2012—Evening_

They come for him eventually. The one that looks like a teddy-bear brings a box cutter and starts sawing away at Kurt’s bonds. Another of them, one who Kurt hasn’t seen before, holds him still. _It’s going to work. Teddy-bear’s looking out for me already. I can convince him to help. I know I can._

The other one—the new one—looks a little like a ferret. He rolls his body into Kurt’s, licks his lips, his teeth. Kurt jolts away, or tries to at least. The ferret-like thug is holding him too tight to really give him much leeway.

Teddy-bear says something in Spanish, voice coming out sharp and angry. And just like that, Ferret is backing away, rolling his eyes the whole time. Teddy-bear says something else in a cold voice and Ferret throws up his hands, backs out of the room.

“What just happened?” Kurt asks, and then he remembers. Gasps.

“Silencio,” comes the voice behind him.

Kurt attempts to shrink into the floor. He knows the blow is coming, heck, he expects it at this point. But when Teddy-bear walks away it’s not to get a better angle.

No, it’s to get some tape.

Kurt’s mouth is covered, chemical-salt taste of tape almost choking him every time he breathes.

Teddy-bear starts up on Kurt’s bonds again talking in Spanish, but this time his words are slower. It’s not until the end of the speech, though, that Kurt figures out it must be for his benefit. “Recuerda, silencio.”

With that, Kurt’s bonds give at last. For the first time in almost twenty-four hours he feels like he can actually move. He almost tries to say ‘thank you’ despite the tape and the lecture.

Only, suddenly, blood starts flowing to his hands again.

Kurt takes back every kind thought he’s had about Teddy-bear. The man is obviously a sadist.

*

After a few minutes of watching Kurt writhe around in agony, Teddy-bear practically drags Kurt through the door that doesn’t lead to the bathroom. This door, instead, leads to a hallway.

Kurt can barely see for the pain streaking through his fingers in bursts of red light, tightening and strangling their way up his wrists, over his arms, all down his back, until he wants to do nothing so much as curl into an inverse fetus on the ground. He wishes for a second that he would’ve taken Blaine up on those yoga lessons last summer. Maybe if he had, he wouldn’t feel now as if all of his muscles were attempting to spontaneously combust.

After stumbling a few steps more, Kurt is wrenched through another door into another room, this one dark as midnight. At first, between the pain and the darkness, Kurt can’t even see what the room is, but after a minute or so the shadows become clear. He’s been thrown into what appears to be some kind of bedroom, although considering the state of the rest of the place, he’s glad it’s too dark to tell the condition of the sheets on the mattress marking the place where a bed ought to be. It’s not until the door moves again, letting out a horror-movie squeal, that Kurt notices there’s someone else in the room.

A drawn curtain moves in the wind. It tells Kurt two things: (1) the reason the room is as dark as it is and (2) the other person in the room is a man. He’s tall, clean-shaven unlike any of the others Kurt’s seen so far, and from the brief bit of light, he has at least one scar on his face.

Kurt feels his heart pick up speed, scared rabbit beats pound-pound-pounding away until all he can hear is the beat of his own heart.

And then they start to talk.

It’s fast, too fast, but Kurt’s going too fast himself. He sucks it in, as much of it as he can. Scar speaks, voice a low rasp, and what he says sounds something like “pork hay” and “seeg ian tay” and “aldzar.”

Teddy speaks back and it sounds like “pork hay” again and “mon yana” and “whore hay.”

Scar makes a disgusted sound then says something like, “Sal. Immediate amenity.”

Teddy looks at Scar one last time and then he pushes right through the shrieking door and out to the hall.

Scar turns and looks at Kurt for the first time then. Kurt has to choke back a noise. He’s never been so terrified in his life.

There’s something about Scar, something about the gleaming white of his teeth, even in the dark room vicious as a shark. Something about the way he has his hair poofed up and yet slicked back, a little like one of those gangsters from the twenties. But more than anything, there’s something about the scars.

There are three of them that Kurt can see. One is on the bridge of his nose, cutting it just so, to make an otherwise patrician nose look hawk-like. One is tracing along his jaw, from the lobe of his ear to just before the chin. And one—the worst—is right across his eye, hitting the lid on both sides.

It makes him look like a mob boss. It makes him look like a madman. And that similarity is continued when his mouth turns up into a cruel parody of a smile.

*

Scar doesn’t speak. Kurt can’t tell if it’s because he knows Kurt can’t understand or if it’s because he doesn’t want to communicate.

But even though Scar doesn’t speak with words, he does make himself perfectly understood. He grabs Kurt by the wrists, making the pain expand for a second, and throws him onto the mattress.

Kurt gets his hands under him despite the ache and shoves himself mostly upright. He needn’t have worried about the state of the sheets; he’s currently lying on a bare mattress. Reports on bedbugs in third world countries cycle through his head until he’s choking back bile.

Scar moves into a beam of light and, for a second, Kurt sees something gleaming in his hand. _A knife,_ his brain every-so-helpfully informs him. He tries to scream, but with the tape holding his voice in, the most he can get out is a high pitched keen. This is it. Kurt’s going to die in this dirty hovel in the middle of nowhere on a dirty mattress full of bedbugs. He’ll never get to say goodbye to his dad or Blaine. Never say goodbye to Finn or Carole.

He thinks about running for a second, but that’s all it takes for him to realize it will never work. Four big, strong Mexicans with knives—possibly guns too—and ties to the mob, he would never make it out alive. And somehow, he’s pretty sure if he runs, they’ll make the death a whole lot more painful.

In the end he lies back down, closes his eyes. He waits for the knife to descend, bringing its inevitable end.

But when the knife comes it doesn’t tear into his heart—no, it tears through his pants.

And suddenly Kurt realizes there is a fate worse than death.

*

This is not the way Kurt’s first time is supposed to go. Kurt’s first time is supposed to go like this:

It’s Blaine’s eighteenth birthday. After a romantic candlelit dinner where they both talk about their passion for music and fashion and each other, Kurt takes Blaine back to his dorm.

He lights candles, dozens of them, and plays Sinatra and Norah Jones and Usher. And the two of them kiss, just kiss, for hours on end.

They take off each others’ clothes. Explore every nook and cranny of each others’ bodies. They touch and kiss and lick until each of them cannot even speak for how much they feel. And then, when they both can’t take it any longer, Blaine says, “Please, Kurt. Make love to me.”

And Kurt says, “Are you sure? Are you ready? We don’t have to do everything tonight. Whatever—“

And Blaine says, “I’m sure,” and pulls Kurt on top of him.

After that there is lube, Kurt taking his time to make sure Blaine is good and wet. And there is stretching, Kurt’s gloved fingers making room for another part of him. And finally, _finally_ , Kurt makes love to Blaine.

Sometimes he thinks it will be over in minutes. Sometimes he thinks he will be able to last all night long on the power of love alone. But no matter what happens, both of them love every second of it and will treasure it as the most important memory of their lives.

*

That isn’t what actually happens for Kurt’s first time. _This_ is what actually happens:

Scar gives a good tug on Kurt’s belt-loops and, like that, Kurt’s without pants. It should feel comfortable because of the heat, but instead it makes him feel too hot and too cold at the same time.

Scar says something then, something about “blonco,” but Kurt’s too busy shaking in fright to really take it in. Scar slaps him, high on the thigh until it almost feels like he’s playing some primitive form of chicken with Kurt’s genitals. Then Scar grabs the bottom of Kurt’s boxers and rips them clean in two. With his bare hands.

Kurt feels tears start to form at the corners of his eyes.

Scar grabs Kurt by the ankles and flips him over, only Kurt’s upper half doesn’t cooperate. He winds up twisted almost in half, back wrenched painfully. Scar growls harsh syllables under his breath, giving Kurt a good tug until he’s flat on his belly.

There’s a hand on Kurt’s butt, then. Fingernails graze marks into the fleshy part and almost wrench his cheeks apart. Kurt’s breath starts to come faster, tears starting in earnest.

Kurt hears a sound, an unmistakable sound from the short time he moonlighted as a football player. It’s the sound of someone spitting. And then he feels it, wet and cold on his ass. He bites his tongue, forces back a gag.

Something thick and blunt forces its way into him, then. And it hurts. It hurts so badly. The mattress gets more and more wet under Kurt’s face as his tears fall.

Whatever’s inside of him— _a penis,_ his brain helpfully supplies—picks up speed. It goes into him faster and harder until he feels ripped in two, body not bearing up under the strain.

As suddenly as it started, it’s done. Out of his body leaving him hollow.

Kurt keeps breathing short sharp breaths through his nose, breathing through the pain.

And then he feels something else start to enter him. Only this something is even thicker than what was in him before.

 _Oh my god. Oh my god, NO!_ Kurt’s mind shrieks. His throat forces out a wail, useless, useless, but needing to escape.

And it must not have been Scar’s penis after all. It must have been his fingers.

Kurt is cleaved in two, body broken as cleanly as a snapped twig. It makes his heart stop for a second, how much it _hurts_ , and when it starts back up again it’s going far too fast.

And then Scar pulls slowly, slowly, ever so slowly out. And when he shoves himself back in, the pain starts all over again.

It goes on forever, this endless cycle of pain and worse pain. Kurt is starting to think that it’s not that he’s been kidnapped, it’s actually that he’s in some bizarre form of hell. Only worse.

After endless minutes, or maybe hours, Scar pulls him close, bending his body into an impossible angle. His hands are on Kurt’s shoulders, tugging, tugging, until Kurt’s back is arched into a wicked curve. And then he starts talking, whispering into Kurt’s ear things he couldn’t hear even if they were in English. Not over the pain. Not over his own panting breaths.

He talks and talks, and as he talks his hands slide in farther and farther until instead of being on Kurt’s shoulders, they’re actually circling his throat.

Kurt can’t breathe. He tries harder, breaths coming faster than ever, but it’s a losing battle. His heart feels as if it’s about to pound out if his body.

And the last thing he thinks before he passes out is, _I won’t come out of this alive._

 _June 13, 2012—Night_

Kurt wakes up as his body hits the water. He’s in a tub, the same grimy tub in the same grimy bathroom he was in before. And Teddy is holding him upright.

For the first time since this whole thing started, Kurt struggles. He twists and fidgets, thrashes his legs, tries to hit Teddy with his head. And Teddy lets him. It goes on for a few minutes until Kurt is too weak from his various ills and too out of breath from his make-shift gag to keep it up any longer.

He lies there for a minute, water starting to cool around him, just panting and getting his bearings. And then he hears Teddy start to talk to him.

The words are slow, soft and repetitive, but Kurt’s too out of it to try and figure out their individual meanings. He knows what they mean, anyhow. They mean, “ _Shh, you’re safe. Shh, you’re whole. Shh, everything’s all right. Shh, I’ve got you._ ”

The tears start up again, and Kurt’s helpless to stop them.

Then he feels a ripple in the water, hears a stream of it sliding down, hitting the surface. There’s a cloth at his face, tracing over his eyes. Wiping under his nose. “ _Shh, I’ll take care of you._ ”

A hand slides to his mouth, teasing the corner of the tape up. Then, without any warning, it’s ripped off his face. Kurt opens his mouth. To scream, to wail, to say all kinds of horrid things, just to hear his own voice. But before he can make so much as a peep, Teddy’s hand is closing over his mouth, gagging him just as tightly as the tape. Kurt looks up at him, accusation in his glare. But Teddy is looking back. Teddy is talking. And yes, maybe Kurt doesn’t know what exactly Teddy is saying. But Kurt _does_ know exactly what Teddy _means_. He means, “ _Shh, even I can’t save you if you talk now._ ”

So Kurt doesn’t talk. He closes his mouth tight, and his eyes too for good measure. He makes his body relax. And after Teddy lets go, Kurt just floats there and pretends he hasn’t been kidnapped at all.

A minute later, the cloth is back, wiping away the tape marks and saliva. It traces down his neck, gentle, gentle over the place where Scar’s hands were rough, rough. “ _Shh, you’re okay now._ ”

The cloth traces lower, rubbing over tight shoulders and tighter arms. Scrubbing over crooked fingers. It marks a path down his chest, another down his back. “ _Shh, just like new._ ”

Teddy fishes a leg from the water, washes that, then washes the other too. And then he grabs Kurt’s wrists, props him on his knees, wrists braced against the back of the tub. He cleans Kurt’s penis, soft, soft, never hard again. And then he goes behind Kurt.

Teddy hisses.

For a second his voice turns harsh—sharp and deadly. The words fly fast and brutal through the space between them. Kurt shakes. His arms slip from the edge of the tub.

Teddy makes a noise, something between a laugh and a sigh, and he lifts Kurt’s face. He says, “ _Shh, it’s okay,_ ” or something like it, mouth tucked into a forgery of a smile. And then the smile disappears and his eyes turn hard and he says, he means, “ _If anyone does that to you again, I’ll kill them with my bare hands._ ”

He places Kurt’s hands back onto the tub, and he goes behind Kurt again. He picks the cloth back up, and he cleans the place that feels like a heated brand, like an aching, swollen bruise.

And Kurt doesn’t say, “No you won’t.” He doesn’t even think it.

 _June 14, 2012—Morning_

Kurt wakes up from a dream about Finn. It’s just a stupid innocuous dream, all about Finn taking too long in the shower and making Kurt late for school. But it makes Kurt feel anxious, impatient.

He hasn’t been allowing himself to think about rescue. Even in the United States it takes fully forty eight hours to be able to declare someone a missing person. He knows it must take even longer in another country. And then there’s the fact that he can’t hear the ocean anymore, can’t smell it.

Veracruz _is_ the ocean, salt-spray flying far and wide. The breeze carries a tang of the tropical, the unknown. It seems that anywhere in town you can hear the waves crashing, the ocean telling its tales.

The fact that Kurt hasn’t heard one crash, hasn’t felt a lick of moist breeze since waking up here, leaves him certain he’s not in Veracruz anymore. He’s certain, absolutely certain, he’s farther inland. Here, there’s dust in the breeze. Here, there’s the sound of wild animals. He’s not in Veracruz. He’s probably not in a city at all.

He can’t expect anything yet. He can’t even hope for anything yet. It would be insane to expect anything. _After a week,_ he thinks, _just wait a week._ He doesn’t let himself think that a week is far too short a time, doesn’t begin to think there’s a chance they’ll never come.

*

Teddy comes in, carrying another sandwich. Kurt thinks about how, in another life, he would never allow himself two sandwiches in as many days. Too many carbs, too many empty calories. He’s happy enough to eat it now, though, hunger making his belly into an aching pit.

Kurt had slept on the ground again, fondly remembering the probably bedbug ridden mattress as he tried to fall asleep on the hard tile. At least his wrists hadn’t been tied together this time, which is not to say he hadn’t been bound at all. Teddy had taped his wrist to a pipe running along the bottom of the wall. For the first half hour Kurt had tried to pick at the tape, but it was impossible, too sticky by far. And Kurt wasn’t exactly at his best. Eventually he had fallen into a fitful, painful sleep.

As soon as Kurt is done eating, Teddy cuts Kurt free. Kurt still has a loop of tape around his wrist, but he’s no longer connected to the wall.

Teddy grabs him by the tape, pulls him into the bathroom. “Orine,” he says again, and Kurt remembers this one. He gives Teddy a look, hoping for a little privacy. Teddy doesn’t take the hint. Kurt sighs, tugs down the zipper on the cheap jeans they’d given him to replace his best slacks. He takes himself in hand and uses the facilities, Teddy watching the whole time. After Kurt’s done, he tries to make his way over to the sink, only Teddy blocks him, starts speaking to him again.

He says the same thing over and over again. Says it slower and slower until Kurt could say the syllables right back to him, not that it tells Kurt what they mean. “Ne say see toss kay ca gar?”

Finally Kurt Just shakes his head, shrugs his shoulders. He doesn’t know, won’t know, no matter how slowly Teddy talks.

Teddy turns around then, and Kurt guesses that means it’s time to leave. Only, he guesses wrong. Teddy points at his own butt, drops down into a squat. Then he says it again. “Ne say see toss kay ca gar?”

And Kurt gets it. He feels himself flush red. Teddy’s asking him if he wants to defecate.

The answer is no, of course, for so many reasons. There’s the fact that he really doesn’t have to go right now in the first place, and the fact that he would never, _ever_ defecate in front of someone. But perhaps the biggest reason of all is the fact that he decided, sometime last night, that nothing, nothing at all, is ever passing through his anal canal again. In either direction.

So when Teddy turns back to look at him, Kurt shakes his head decisively. Which is why Kurt doesn’t understand when Teddy makes a motion like taking off his pants and says something else in Spanish.

Kurt freezes. He just told Teddy no, but Teddy doesn’t seem to be listening. And if Kurt doesn’t do it, if Kurt doesn’t defecate, what’s going to happen to him? Is Teddy going to bind him to the toilet? Make him sit there until he goes, like a kitten getting trained in the litter box?

After a few minutes of Teddy miming removing his pants and Kurt most definitely _not_ removing his own, Teddy sighs and walks over to Kurt. He undoes the button on Kurt’s jeans and Kurt chokes back a sob. He undoes the zipper and Kurt has to hold himself back from trying to punch him. And then Teddy is tugging Kurt’s jeans and boxers down just below his ass. He walks behind Kurt and fumbles around a little and all of a sudden, Kurt feels something slippery in between his butt cheeks.

 _No!_ Kurt thinks. He tenses up, bites down on his tongue. _No! Not again._

Teddy sighs, makes the same kind of noise Kurt’s dad makes when Kurt’s being particularly stubborn. He walks in front of Kurt, holds up a little tube.

Kurt tries to close his eyes, doesn’t want to see. Only, on the way closed, they actually catch a glimpse of what exactly Teddy is holding, and instead of closing they choose to fly wide open. Teddy isn’t holding a tube of –of lubricant. No, he’s holding a tube of Neosporin, yellow label never such a relief to Kurt’s mind as it is right now.

Teddy says something, asks another question, and Kurt nods hard enough to cause head trauma. _Yes, I would like the medicine, you dear, dear man you,_ he thinks, choking back hysterical laughter.

Teddy does the laughing for him, a low chuckle as his fingers rub slick relief over Kurt’s most stubborn ache.

It burns at first, but all cures must burn before they heal.

 _June 14, 2012—Afternoon_

Kurt spent about twenty minutes attempting to envision an escape involving black tape, water, and possibly a sandwich. He turned his brain off after imagining a flock of birds flying through the bars and pecking him free. He ended up sleeping again, dreamless this time, until he was woken, someone new with Teddy.

Teddy had cut him free again, then gestured at the new guy. “Dino,” he’d said. “Dino.” The new guy gave Teddy a faintly suspicious look, but then he just looked away, through the window, at the floors, at Kurt.

He was in his forties, Kurt would guess, curly black hair and thick black mustache turning him into some sort of stereotype. He was a hair shorter than Kurt, an inch thicker around the middle. But his arms were thick, his shoulders were broad. If it weren’t for the hunched way he held himself, Kurt would’ve placed him at even younger than forty.

Teddy had held out a bucket to Kurt, gestured at the bathroom. Then he’d slapped the new guy on the back, said, “Dino,” one more time, and given Kurt a lightning-quick smile before heading off into the hallway.

So, for the first time since this crazy fiasco began, Kurt has a name to go with the face. He’s been cleaning the bathroom for the past hour or so, new guy—Dino—looking on all the while. Every once in a while, Kurt looks up at Dino from where he’s working away with the ratty old scrub brush, and every time, Dino has a bored, slightly uncomfortable look on his face. He never says anything, never really does anything at all other than stand there. Kurt is almost starting to wonder whether he’s mute or not all there, or something.

At least the new guy isn’t doing anything obnoxious or gross. He doesn’t leer at Kurt and he most definitely isn’t touching him. It makes it easier for Kurt to pretend he isn’t actually kidnapped by felons right now. That instead, he’s just cleaning a bathroom out for a friend. Or something.

Kurt’s not exactly unused to cleaning. After all, until Carole came around he did pretty much all the cleaning for his dad and him. But Kurt’s always believed in staying on top of things. And these guys—well, apparently they believe in letting things fall completely to wrack and ruin and then just kidnapping someone to fix it for them. Kurt bites back hysterical laughter. He’s been allowed to go without the tape-gag since last night, and he really doesn’t want it back.

After what feels like hours, Kurt’s finally done with the floors. They’re not spotless, not by any means. But considering how they started out and the supplies he has to work with—soapy water and an ancient scrub brush with half the bristles missing—they’re a sight better than anyone has any right to expect from him.

He’s just starting to tip the filthy grey water down the drain of the tub—and won’t that be fun to clean—when a hand lands on his shoulder. It’s Dino, looking irritated, or maybe constipated, gesturing and speaking in short sharp bursts. Kurt tries to spill the water faster, but that only gets him a cuff to the back of his head. “No,” says Dino, followed by words Kurt _doesn’t_ understand. But at least he understands that one.

He stops the water, tipping the bucket back to upright with his knee. Dino takes the bucket from him, flings it onto the ground. He grabs Kurt by the back of the neck, tugs him over until he’s behind the toilet.

Kurt hadn’t cleaned behind here, of course he hadn’t cleaned behind here. After all, who cleans _behind_ their toilet in the first place? Who would _look_ behind a toilet? It isn’t like some crazy Mary Poppins is going to drop down from the sky and run her white-gloved finger _behind a toilet_ and say, “Oh, my. This won’t do at all.”

And then there’s the fact that it’s behind a toilet. Who knows what all is living back there? Kurt knows men. He lives with two of them, thank you. He knows how often they miss the bowl. The thought of cleaning back behind where at least five men urinate on a semi-regular basis is anathematic to him.

But Dino shoves Kurt down until he’s on his hands and knees and he shoves Kurt’s face down even farther. He says something hard, something dirty-mean hard. And just as Kurt thinks his face is about to connect with whatever disgusting bacteria is currently residing back there, Dino lets go, retrieves the bucket and walks back to the doorway.

Kurt cleans behind the toilet, bile rising in the back of his throat.

 _June 14, 2012—Night_

Kurt’s tired, achy-tired from a day of hard work and trippy-tired from a few nights of poor sleep. When Teddy comes over again and sends Dino away, Kurt’s more than happy to eat the sandwich he’s given.

The bathroom is spotless, or as close to it as Kurt could make it with a little elbow grease. But Kurt himself feels covered in grit and grime and scummy soap. He wants nothing so much as a shower, but there is no shower here—at least, there’s no shower anywhere Kurt can see.

Teddy gestures Kurt to the door to the hallway as soon as the sandwich is done. It makes Kurt nervous, worried there will be a repeat of the night before.

Teddy opens the door to the room from last night.

Kurt starts shaking, teeth chattering in his mouth, body closing down right there in the hallway. He can’t go back there. He won’t.

But Teddy just stands there, door propped open behind him. He stands there and he doesn’t move. He just looks at Kurt, expression unreadable.

Kurt hadn’t looked in the room, hadn’t wanted to witness the scene of…of… _that_. Almost against his will, his eyes drag over now, knowing he’ll see the same bare mattress, the same drawn curtains.

Only, when Kurt looks in the room, the curtains are thrown wide open. The bed is an actual bed now, raised off the ground on an actual frame. And, instead of a bare white mattress, there are blankets and pillows.

They’re garish really, splashes of color that cannot by any sense of the word be said to match. There are mustard throw pillows and a bubble gum pink bolsters. There is an olive afghan and a yellow and blue quilt.

It looks like Sheets and Things clearance exploded. It looks like ocular vomit.

Kurt turns back to Teddy and—and he knows. He knows Teddy did this. He knows Teddy made this happen. Not for Teddy himself or one of the other men. No, Teddy did this for Kurt.

When Kurt enters the room he’s no longer shaking. Instead he’s fighting back a smile.

*

Kurt isn’t sure what he’s expecting to happen, but he’s definitely not expecting Teddy to pull out a photo and start talking in soft words.

It’s a picture of a family, a happy smiling family. There are half a dozen or more children, ranging in age from newborn to about twelve. There’s a pretty woman, hair pulled back in a ponytail and standing next to her is Teddy himself, looking at her like she hung the moon.

Teddy looks older there, really, eyes more wrinkled from smiling, hair shorter and more conservatively styled. He’s wearing a suit with no tie, and the woman and all the children seem to be equally dressed up.

Teddy points to the woman and says, “Carolina, mi esposa.” _Carolina,_ Kurt thinks, and then, _oh my god, he’s married. With children._

One by one, Teddy names them all, “Mano, el bebé,” and, “Linda tiene siete anos,” and, “Miguel, él es cómico.” And then he gets to the last one of all. The oldest, a boy, looks out at them. “Chava,” Teddy says and sighs a little. “Él es mijo. Y el es…es como tú.” He runs a finger over the boy, regret lining his face.

Kurt looks at him, wondering what Teddy sees to make him this despondent. It takes him a second, but then he sees it. While all of the rest of the children are in nice clothing, they are messy like any child their age would be. They have grass stains and smudges and un-tucked shirts. But Chava is pristine, suit as neat as a pin, tie perfect and shirt perfect and hair perfect.

 _I could be looking in a mirror,_ Kurt thinks. He looks at Teddy, at the way he’s staring at his son, and can’t stop his heart breaking a little bit.

Kurt grabs the picture, before he can think twice. He points at the last person, the only one he doesn’t know the name of. Teddy’s eyes flicker, he looks at the picture, then he looks at Kurt. “Aldzar. Soy Aldzar.”

 _Aldzar,_ Kurt thinks. _I’ve been kidnapped by a group of Mexicans and my only chance of escape is a man named Aldzar._ He shakes his head, wonders when this became his life.

*

Aldzar— _Teddy,_ Kurt’s mind insists—hands Kurt a bag and takes him back to the now clean bathroom. There’s a towel and some clothes that aren’t too shabby, soap and—thank Gaga—a toothbrush.

Kurt hopes he’ll be able to take the bath by himself, but no such luck. Aldzar stands in the doorway, face impassive, as Kurt takes his clothes off. For a second Kurt’s not sure what to do with them, the room is clean, but his clothes are anything but. Eventually he settles on emptying the bag onto the edge of the sink basin and shoving his dirty clothes into the bag.

The taps are creaky, tub showing its years, but the water flows hot and fast. It’s only minutes before Kurt’s soaking, water to his chin. Of course, it’s not until he’s fully wet that he realizes he forgot the soap on the edge of the sink.

Aldzar’s handing it to him before he can even think to ask, washcloth too. It’s just a regular bar of soap, nothing moisturizing about it, but even everyday bar soap will do in a pinch, and Kurt’s thrilled to feel the dirt leave his skin. It’s not until he’s done washing himself completely (only skirting around the place that’s still raw from last night) that he looks around himself and notices the lack of shampoo. He turns to Teddy— _no, Aldzar, remember_ —hoping he’ll be able to read Kurt’s mind again, but no such luck.

Either these cretins do not actually _own_ shampoo—a thought too terrifying to contemplate—or else they reserve it for their own use.

Kurt sighs, ducks his head under the water and starts scrubbing away with the bar. It’s better than nothing.

*

When Kurt gets out of the tub, Aldzar is there, towel in hand. Kurt dries himself off quickly, the towel scratchy against his skin.

Kurt grabs the clothes from the sink, but before he can start to get dressed, Aldzar is grabbing his towel from around his waist. Kurt feels himself blush, face going hot. The thought is still there, that Aldzar wants something, but it only takes seeing the little yellow tube to put Kurt’s mind at ease.

It’s easier this time to let Aldzar rub the ointment on. Easier to not say something or do something he shouldn’t. Kurt bites his cheek and doesn’t say anything at all. And amazingly enough, it really seems to hurt less than it did in the morning.

Aldzar walks back to the doorway, slapping him on the flank. It feels like something a friend would do, like Finn and the rest of the football team just horsing around after the game. It makes Kurt pause a minute before getting dressed, the feeling of camaraderie making him miss home like never before.

Kurt pulls on underwear, briefs that are just a little too big, and tries not to think about who wore them before. The jeans are a little short and loose in the thighs. The shirt is short-sleeved, which Kurt knows he should be grateful for considering the local temperatures, but it shows his bruises too well, makes him feel just how trapped he is.

The toothbrush is new. It’s a cheap one, one of those awful things the dentist always gives you, but it does well enough.

It feels so good to brush his teeth after days going without that Kurt could weep sweet tears of joy and relief.

Kurt puts the toothbrush on the sink, the toothpaste next to it. On the other side, the bar of soap holds place of honor. He looks around then, and considering how the place looked just this morning, it’s remarkably homey now.

Aldzar produces a cup from heaven knows where, and Kurt drinks water from the tap— _imagine what bacteria live in local waters_ —and uses the toilet with Aldzar looking on. And then Aldzar’s opening the door, gesturing past the great room and back to the little bedroom.

*

The room is small, tight with the bed made up. The mattress took up enough space, but with the added height, the bed almost overpowers the rest of the room. Aldzar sits down on it, feet braced on the floor. He gives Kurt a look he can’t quite interpret then gets the tape.

It sits there on the floor next to them like a silent warning.

He grabs Kurt’s hand then and, well, Kurt knew this was going to happen. Of course this was going to happen. You spend all day going out of your way to be nice to someone, of course you want something in return. But it doesn’t mean he has to like it.

He pushes himself until his back is against the wall, less than a foot back, but still, something. His spine goes straight, body locked tight into a posture even Nicole Kidman would envy.

He can’t speak, he knows that. The tape is only a threat now, but the idea of it coming out again, stifling him again, makes him start to hyperventilate. So he doesn’t say ‘no,’ doesn’t say, ‘don’t.’ It wouldn’t help anyway. But he does make himself as unapproachable as possible.

Aldzar doesn’t seem to get the memo. He just sits there, holding Kurt’s wrist like he’s got all the time in the world. He looks at Kurt, almost as if he’s willing him to understand.

Eventually Kurt becomes confused. Because, the thing is, Aldzar must know Kurt wouldn’t do _that_ again willingly. But it’s almost as if he wants Kurt to do something for him willingly. Like he’s waiting for _Kurt_ to make the first move. Kurt’s spine slowly starts to lose its rigidity, posture going back to normal.

And then Kurt feels Aldzar’s fingers start to tighten.

He thinks he imagines it at first, or maybe that it’s just a spasm of the hand after holding on for so long. But Aldzar’s hand gets tighter and tighter, fingers almost biting into Kurt’s skin. And then he _twists_ his hand, fingers leaving a burning welt across Kurt’s wrist.

He lets go so suddenly Kurt almost stumbles with the sudden lack of tension.

Kurt winces, has to bite back a shout. It hurts, feels almost like a real burn, skin turning red and swollen as soon as it’s back in open air. He cradles it against his chest, touches the mark with trembling fingers from his other hand.

Aldzar makes a noise that sounds a little like disappointment. He talks then, but the words make no sense. Something like “nesayseetas” over and over again until Kurt actually covers his ears to make the voice stop.

Aldzar frowns then seems to give up. He gets up, and for a moment Kurt thinks that this is it, Aldzar has finally lost patience with him. That the time has come for another night of pain and…well another night of pain.

But instead of coming closer to him, Aldzar goes back to the bed, lying down this time. He’s on his stomach, looking too tense for sleep, when he starts to move.

Kurt feels his eyes expanding in his head because he knows this. He knows what Aldzar is doing. Aldzar is making love to the quilt.

Kurt lowers his hands cautiously, and suddenly there’s soundtrack to go with the picture, creaking springs and low moans and heavy panting.

And somehow, completely against Kurt’s will, he feels his pants growing tight in the front.

It’s just—it’s so uninhibited, the idea of just, just…going at it like that. In front of Kurt. Like Kurt’s not even there. He feels himself flush from the roots of his hair down to his stomach.

It goes on like that for some undetermined amount of time, Aldzar going faster and louder and Kurt getting more and more aroused, when Aldzar makes an unmistakable sound, a moan low in his throat that could only mean one thing.

Kurt almost follows him over the precipice. It’s—it’s like what he imagines watching porn must be like. Beautiful and erotic and just for Kurt.

Aldzar gets up a few seconds later, bedsprings creaking loudly again. And Kurt can’t help himself from looking, has to see evidence of what just happened. Only, the front of Aldzar’s pants is dry. There’s no wet spot. And if Kurt isn’t mistaken, Aldzar doesn’t even have an erection.

It’s puzzling, and it grows even more so when Aldzar turns a big smile on him.

He touches his finger to his lips, then he’s motioning to the bed, to his ear, to the door. And Kurt gets it, it finally makes sense.

After all, what is Kurt here for if not for… _that_.

When Aldzar pulls him close then, Kurt goes willingly. Aldzar’s hand is on him again, other wrist this time. After he’s finished, the marks look like two rope burns.

Aldzar gets closer yet, rubbing his stubble over Kurt’s cheeks, down his neck.

If he notices Kurt’s erection, he doesn’t say anything.

 _June 15, 2012—Morning_

Kurt wakes up tucked up tight to another warm, soft body. It’s comforting, being held so close. At least it is until Kurt remembers where he is.

But when Kurt backs up, it’s Aldzar blinking weary eyes at him. Aldzar yawning, morning breath exhaled between them. “Buenos días,” he says, voice steady, content. Like it’s an everyday occurrence, waking up with Kurt. ( _Or maybe like it’s going to be,_ Kurt thinks.)

Aldzar rolls over, shifts himself out of bed. He stands, back arching into a stretch. Kurt’s eyes linger over him, body softer like this, more approachable. When he sees the bulge in the front of Aldzar’s pants he wonders if he’ll have to take care of it. And then he wonders why he doesn’t worry about that more.

Eventually, Aldzar motions for Kurt to get up as well, waits while Kurt makes the bed.

They head out into the hallway. It’s not until they’re almost to the door to the great room that Kurt sees there’s someone else there, not until they’re almost on top of him that Kurt can tell who it is.

Scar stands there, mouth a sneer.

Kurt feels all of the blood rush from his body at once. His knees go weak, barely managing to support him.

But then—then, Aldzar’s hand closes on the back of his neck, fingers curling in just so, just enough to calm him down. Kurt looks at Aldzar, looks at the fierce protectiveness he’s radiating like a badge. And when he turns back to Scar it’s easy to hide the fear. Especially when he notices the new bandage half-hiding Scar’s forehead.

Kurt shoots and incredulous glance at Aldzar, but Aldzar just leads them away, lets his fingers dip in a little further.

It feels like a brand. It’s not a bad feeling.

*

Dino’s there again, standing awkwardly in the kitchen like Kurt’s wasting his time or something. He stands there alternating between watching Kurt, suspicion in his eyes, and eating tamales.

The tamales…the tamales smell like absolute _heaven_. Normally, Kurt’s not much one for Mexican—too much spice, too much bloating. But after yet _another_ sandwich for breakfast and after the reverent way both Aldzar and Dino had taken the first bite of tamale, eyes closed in bliss, Kurt wants one, badly.

Aldzar had given him a look, eyes mostly closed and teasing. He’d broken a piece of the tamale off, held it out from his body until Kurt thought…he thought… And then Aldzar had tossed the piece up in the air, and caught it. With his mouth.

He’d looked at Kurt then, eyes seeming to say, “Watch it, I can only do so much.” And like that, the moment was broken. After all, what could he do about it other than what they told him to?

So, when Dino had brought the pail out again, scrub-brush and soap inside, Kurt hadn’t even sighed, he’d just set to with a will. And if every once in a while he found himself pausing in his scrubbing, tracing the scent of tamale over to the kitchen counter with his eyes, well at least Dino was good enough not to call him on it.

 _June 15, 2012—Afternoon_

Aldzar comes back in the afternoon. He’s not alone.

He comes in with the ferrety guy creeping ahead of him, looking at Kurt like he’s the last piece of prime rib on an all you can eat buffet. Ferret licks his lips, eyes assessing all of Kurt’s assets.

It makes Kurt close in on himself. He curls up on the floor, making himself as small as possible.

Aldzar is taking to Dino in the kitchenette, voice a distant backdrop to Ferret and his slit-eyes.

“Hi,” says Ferret.

Kurt feels his eyes expand, mixture of shock and terror warring in him.

A door closes and suddenly Aldzar is there, slapping Ferret on the shoulder. They speak for a few minutes, a disagreement of some kind, but Aldzar seems to get the upper hand.

Aldzar turns to Kurt, holds out his hand until Kurt can do nothing but take it. He pulls Kurt upright, tucking him close.

He grabs Ferret with his other hand. “Claudio,” he says. “Claudio.”

Ferret smiles a dirty leer of a smile. He says, “Claudio. I yam Claudio.” He acts like a student looking for a pat on the back. Aldzar slaps the back of his head instead.

“Claudio,” Aldzar says one more time with an exasperated smile. “Me err mano.”

Aldzar says something to Claudio, something that makes Claudio’s eyebrows rise. Claudio walks over to the kitchenette saying something back, words mashed too quick for Kurt to catch more than a “no,” and a “mamá.”

And then Claudio’s back, something in his hand. After a second Kurt can smell it, the spicy scent of the tamale making his mouth water. He bites his cheek, swallows saliva. It’s not for him, the tamale.

Aldzar gestures for him to sit down. He runs a hand through Kurt’s hair, and Kurt spends a second wondering if this is what he’s like with his own children. And then Aldzar is gesturing Claudio closer. Aldzar moves to the other side of the room.

Claudio tries to take up where Aldzar left off, but Kurt shakes him off without thinking about it. It’s too much, that intimacy, from someone he can’t know, can’t trust.

But Claudio doesn’t seem upset by it. He just sits down himself, a few feet from Kurt, and breaks a piece off the tamale. He makes to touch Kurt’s mouth with his free hand, but Kurt jerks back again. Claudio makes a tsking sound under his breath, speaks in Spanish to Aldzar.

Kurt looks up to find Aldzar watching them almost impassively. He can see a little humor around Aldzar’s eyes, a little twitch to his lips that makes him wonder if they’re being laughed at. Aldzar doesn’t respond to Claudio, other than to shrug a shoulder.

Claudio turns back to Kurt. “Tamale,” he says.

Kurt looks at him, looks at the corn-husk covered packet on the plate, and mentally rolls his eyes.

Claudio tries again. “Para tí,” he says, lifting up the plate. He brings the broken off piece of tamale closer to Kurt.

Kurt self-consciously backs up.

Claudio sighs. He looks at Aldzar for a minute, but Aldzar doesn’t look any more inclined to help than he had before. After another minute he tries once more. “Para mi,” he says, pointing to himself. He takes the bite of food and eats it.

Then he points at Kurt. “Para tí,” he says.

Kurt’s mouth starts watering all over again. He holds out his hand, not really hoping, but a second later, Claudio’s dropping a bite-sized piece of tamale into his palm. He brings it to his face, breathes in the scent of pepper and meat and corn. And, watching Claudio all the while, he eats it.

It’s…strange. It’s like nothing he’s eaten before. The outside is gritty and thick on his tongue. The inside is spicy and a little greasy.

It is, quite possibly, the best thing he’s ever eaten.

Claudio smiles like the cat that got the cream. He says, again, “Para tí,” and holds a piece out. But this time when Kurt tries to take it with his hand, Claudio shakes his head. He scoots a little closer, boots making a squeaking noise on the freshly cleaned floors. He holds it a couple inches from Kurt’s face, says, “Para tí,” again.

Kurt leans forward like one compelled. His mouth closes on the bite of tamale with a moan.

When he looks back at Claudio, it looks like Claudio’s the one having a near-orgasmic experience.

*

Claudio feeds Kurt two whole tamales, piece by piece. After a few days subsisting on ham and white bread, the bizarreness of being hand-fed doesn’t even signify. As soon as he’s finished with the second, he can’t help but lick Claudio’s fingers clean, chasing down the rest of the filling. Claudio makes an obscene noise.

Aldzar comes over then, pulling Kurt to his feet. He gestures Kurt into the bathroom. Kurt goes without even thinking about it, second nature by now. He unzips as soon as he hears “Orine,” from Aldzar, and it’s not until he hears an unexpected noise from the direction of the door that he even starts to think about any change to the routine.

He looks over his shoulder, and Claudio is standing there next to Aldzar. He looks—he looks completely debauched.

Kurt stops urinating mid-stream. He feels flushed, acutely embarrassed for the first time since coming here. It’s so personal, so private, the act of urination.

It was one thing in front of Aldzar who had children of his own. Aldzar who never laid a hand on him in a remotely sexual way. But the idea of doing something so personal in front of Claudio who looks at him with lust in his eyes…leaves Kurt feeling mortified.

Claudio is young, barely older than Kurt himself. It would be different if he was unattractive. But Claudio is…very attractive. He’s got an almost pretty face (if it weren’t for the facial hair), a fantastic body, and there’s something about him that just seems to ooze sex. In another life, Kurt may very well have consented to go out on a date with him.

Aldzar says, “Orine,” again, tries to get Kurt to finish. But Kurt can’t, cannot even begin to contemplate it. He tucks himself in, zips up, face still red.

But Aldzar doesn’t seem pleased. He gestures for Kurt to unzip his pants. And Kurt does, not wanting to test any bounds with Claudio standing right there. But instead of saying, “Orine,” again, Aldzar comes over and turns Kurt around. He pushes Kurt’s jeans down, the briefs, and Kurt finally remembers the other reason Aldzar has him strip.

Aldzar starts talking then, finger tracing the place that’s almost healed. Claudio says something back. And then there are unfamiliar fingers touching his passage. Aldzar reaches out to the sink and grabs the Neosporin that’s still sitting there from yesterday, and then it’s Claudio spreading the cream over the Kurt’s abused bottom.

It doesn’t feel the same as Aldzar. The fingers are less sure, and at the same time, they’re less clinical. They linger after the cream is spread, touching, touching, until Kurt’s ready to scream from it.

Then there are words again, and the fingers are gone.

It’s almost anti-climatic after that. Aldzar just pulls up Kurt’s briefs and jeans while Claudio washes his hands.

If it weren’t for the way Claudio looks at Kurt as they leave, Kurt could almost imagine the whole thing a dream.

 _June 15, 2012—Evening_

Kurt spends the rest of the day under Claudio’s watchful eye. It worries Kurt at first. Claudio doesn’t seem like the type to deny his impulses, but in the end Claudio seems to think half the fun of anything is the anticipation.

Every time Kurt looks up, Claudio is tracking him with his eyes. It makes Kurt flush, makes him bite his cheek to hold back words of embarrassment.

Claudio is disconcerting in a way no one has really ever been before. Even with Blaine, it was a case of _Kurt_ being the one with the schoolboy crush.

In a way it’s flattering. If it were in any other circumstance, Kurt would be honored by the attention. But the fact remains that Kurt is kidnapped and Claudio is one of the kidnappers.

When Kurt is finished with everything except the kitchenette, Claudio gestures Kurt toward the bathroom again. Kurt goes in with a sinking feeling in his stomach that only gets worse when Claudio looks over his shoulder before closing the door.

But Claudio doesn’t make him remove his clothes. He doesn’t even make Kurt take his nightly bath. Instead he holds out his hand.

In it there’s a magnet—one of those old-fashioned ones you use in school, blue on one side, red on the other.

Claudio puts his finger to his lips, then cups a hand around his ear. And then he drops the magnet. It makes a loud clang.

He picks it up, grabs Kurt’s hand and folds it around the magnet. “For you,” he says, making a motion like shoving something in his pockets. Kurt puts the magnet in his pocket.

“Aldzar say,” Claudio says, stopping and biting his lip. “Aldzar say, for if I bad.” Claudio makes a motion like dropping something.

And this, the thought that they’re giving him some kind of protection, some kind of fail-safe—it’s almost enough to make Kurt cry.

*

The two of them walk to the bedroom. Aldzar is there, waiting for them. He talks to Claudio in rapid Spanish, gesturing toward Kurt and Claudio himself.

Finally he gestures Kurt over. He grabs Claudio’s hand, uses it to touch Kurt’s behind, then shakes his head no. He looks at Kurt almost as if testing his comprehension.

And it’s great of Aldzar to set boundaries like that. It’s fantastic of him to say that Claudio can’t…but Claudio still will touch him, by now Kurt’s fairly sure of that. And that’s still _wrong_ in some fundamental way that Kurt can’t even begin to explain. If nothing else, it’s cheating on Blaine.

So Kurt nods, but he ducks his head right after. And he doesn’t look up again until Aldzar is gone.

The light is on, making the room bright as day. The sheets are turned down on the bed. Everything is warm and inviting. But Kurt still feels cold.

Claudio touches Kurt’s hand, the center of the palm where it’s almost reflex for him to just close his hand around Claudio’s. Kurt lets go again almost immediately, but Claudio doesn’t seem to mind. He’s already on to uncharted territories.

He touches Kurt’s cheek, brushes his finger back and forth over it until Kurt clenches his jaw in self-awareness. He touches the inside of Kurt’s elbow, brushing along it until it unseals. He touches Kurt’s nose lightning quick with a finger, then quicker yet with his own nose. And then he tries to kiss Kurt.

Kurt turns his head away. Even though everything else is a betrayal of Blaine, that would somehow be worse. Claudio presses the kiss into Kurt’s cheek instead as if that was what he meant to do all along.

He traces dry kisses all over Kurt’s face, from his eyelashes to his jawbone to his earlobe. It feels…comforting. It feels familiar in a way, almost as if it’s something his mother used to do.

And then he works his way down to Kurt’s neck, tongue and teeth tracing over tendon and bone until Kurt starts to feel flushed in an entirely different way from before. Claudio licks the place where Kurt’s shoulder and neck meet and then he bites down. Before Kurt can think about it, he’s letting out a low moan.

Claudio lets out his own moan in return.

Claudio licks and nibbles, licks and nibbles, that one maddening inch of skin until Kurt’s ready to scream from it. And then, when Kurt’s utterly distracted with just wanting him to move already, Claudio pulls Kurt’s shirt over his head.

Kurt gasps, tries to cover himself, but his hands seem insufficient. “Sh,” Claudio says, running careful fingers over Kurt’s back. “ShhhhShhhh.”

Claudio keeps doing that, stroking Kurt’s back and hushing him and dropping dry kisses to his shoulders and neck and nose until Kurt’s body just relaxes on its own. Claudio works his way over Kurt’s chest then, biting and licking until Kurt feels hot all over, like he’s running a low-grade fever.

It’s almost like Kurt blanks out the next few minutes, he can’t remember afterward how he got naked or how Claudio undressed. All he can remember is a shaky-warm _want_ running through his veins.

When they’re naked, Claudio licks behind Kurt’s knees and over his legs. He licks between Kurt’s thighs until they’re practically dripping from it. And when Kurt is aching with an indescribable want and willing to do anything for just one touch more, Claudio runs his penis between Kurt’s thighs.

It’s strange at first, startling, the feeling of something rubbing just there. Kurt clenches his thighs together on accident, surprise making his body jerk closed.

Claudio whines, voice high, desperate.

It makes Kurt feel powerful, for a second. Knowing he’s the one causing that sound.

Kurt forces his legs tighter together, pushes back the next time Claudio pushes forward.

Claudio groans, sounding broken.

And suddenly Kurt is just as desperate for it as Claudio. His body works on automatic, screwing itself back on Claudio’s penis. After a few more thrusts, Claudio ruts up against Kurt’s scrotum. It makes Kurt moan, makes his eyes roll back in his head, and when Claudio does it again on the very next thrust, Kurt’s suddenly coming without a hand on him.

 _June 15, 2012—Night_

Afterward, Kurt doesn’t remember Claudio finishing. In fact, he would suspect he never had if it weren’t for the tell-tale evidence staining his skin. It’s sticky and white, and when Kurt touches it, it feels like snot.

Claudio is gone, leaving Kurt alone and unbound for the first time since he got here. Kurt thinks about trying to escape. He thinks about trying to slip through the front door or the air ducts while no one is looking. Then he falls asleep.

He wakes up some time later to Aldzar carrying him to the bathroom. The hallway is dark and quiet in a way it never quite is during the day. He almost lets his head fall back onto Aldzar’s shoulder and falls back asleep, but that doesn’t seem right. Kurt’s not as young as he was once, he’s no toddler to be carried everywhere. So Kurt pushes on Aldzar’s shoulder until Aldzar lets him go. And they walk to the bathroom together.

Aldzar doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t quite meet Kurt’s eye.

Kurt thinks Aldzar might be ashamed. For the most part he’s glad for it.

It wasn’t right of Aldzar to make Kurt have sex with Claudio. And maybe that isn’t the whole picture, maybe Kurt isn’t seeing everything, but from where Kurt stands, that’s pretty much what it looks like.

It makes Kurt feel dirty. Like he’s a prostitute and Aldzar is his pimp.

Even though the water is hot, he shivers as he steps into it.

 _June 16, 2012—Morning_

Kurt wakes up frightened. He can’t remember what day it is. He can’t remember what day he was taken, he can’t remember how many days he’s been here, he can’t remember anything about any time since he’s been here.

It’s terrifying.

It probably shouldn’t be. In all honesty, knowing the day isn’t exactly going to help him out. But Kurt wants to know. He wants to know when the search for him will begin, and when he should expect results. He thinks it might be the only way for him to stay sane.

Kurt takes a deep breath, then another. He needs to calm down. He won’t be able to figure out anything if he can’t calm down.

He takes a second to look around him and it’s still dark out, sun not yet risen. Aldzar seems dead to the world, sleeping peacefully as a baby on the other side of the bed.

It’s fine. Kurt has time.

He thinks about it. The number of days first, because that’s easiest. Two nights on the hard ground—those will stick with him for a while. And two nights in bed with someone else. Something else bound to stick with him for a while.

Four days. He’s been here four days.

Now for the day he was kidnapped…

There was something important about it. Something was notable. He remembers flipping the page on the daily calendar in the room he was sharing with Finn. He remembers how excited Finn was because it was…it was…

The twelfth.

Finn did that all year. Every month when the twelfth rolled around, he’d get all excited. It was almost like he made it his own special holiday.

And he got more excited than ever this time because it was _June_ twelfth. Six-twelve-twelve. Like it was some sort of magic number, just because one of them was half of the other two.

Kurt smiles to himself. Finn will be so excited when December rolls around. Twelve-twelve-twelve has to be bigger than all the rest. _He’ll probably make us wear party hats,_ Kurt thinks, remembering November eleventh from last year. _Not that I will. One year was enough up to put up with his whims._

Kurt’s mind grinds to a halt. He’s taking it for granted that he _will_ be there this time. But will he? Will he actually be free? Will he even be alive?

Kurt feels the smile slip.

In its place rises a sudden determination. He will get free. He will make it out alive. He has to. Today is June sixteenth, 2012. He makes a vow to himself that he _will_ be free by July sixteenth, if it’s the last thing he does.

*

The day starts out as a virtual repeat of the day before, with only two differences. Instead of taunting Kurt with the smell of tamales, it’s the smell of good coffee that they torment him with this time. And although Kurt’s still cleaning the floors, he’s finally made his way to a section of the building he’s spent less time in—the hallway.

The floors are the same filthy terra cotta tiles of the rest of the place. But today there’s not just scrubbing, there are also opportunities. Kurt makes his way slowly, painstakingly, from tile to tile, and as he does he begins to figure some things out.

There are a grand total of six doors leading from the hallway. With one leading to the great room and one leading to the bedroom Kurt now spends his nights in, that leaves four doorways yet unexplored.

Dino’s watching Kurt too closely to allow him to get away with actually looking in the rooms, but in the late morning, Kurt gets his first bit of good luck: Claudio comes through the hallway to get something.

Claudio enters through the door at the end of the hall, and although Kurt isn’t able to get as good of a view as he’s like, he is able to catch sight of a blue sliver of sky and orangey slit of ground while pretending to scrub an extra rough spot.

It makes sense that there would be an exit there; after all it is a hallway. But it still makes Kurt’s heart race a little faster, still makes his pulse pound in his chest. The knowledge that freedom is just a few yards away is almost heady.

Upon entering, Claudio makes his way to one of the other doors. Kurt’s ready to try and sneak an unsuspected peek again, but Claudio makes his job easy by throwing the door wide open.

Instead of another bedroom or a den or even some kind of torture chamber, Claudio opens the door on a supply closet. There are pencils and pens, papers and scissors, and every other type of office supply one could possibly hope for, all crammed into a closet the side of a sardine can.

Claudio grabs a box of staples and closes the door. On his way out, he turns to Kurt. He licks his lips, blows Kurt a kiss. Kurt’s certain his blush can be seen from outer space.

 _June 16, 2012—Afternoon_

Dino’s the one to give Kurt his treat that day. It’s coffee with enough milk and sugar in it that it can barely be called anything of the sort.

Luckily, he doesn’t hand feed Kurt the coffee. That would just be painful for all involved.

Dino gives Kurt the mug and stands by in a mixture of disgruntlement and irritation. Kurt drinks the almost-coffee and it tastes better than the real thing. The slide of caffeine down his throat does things for him that not even a shower could do.

Aldzar comes then and relieves Dino of his position. He takes Kurt in the bathroom, gives him an early bath-time.

It’s strange how easily Kurt has grown accustomed to the routine. Startling how suddenly he’s been able to just get used to a total lack of privacy.

After the bath, Kurt suddenly feels it hit him—the need to defecate. He tries to suppress it, tries to will it away, but in the end, the coffee is his downfall. He ends up hunched over the toilet finally letting go.

He thinks it will hurt.

It doesn’t.

It almost feels like a betrayal, like his body’s betraying him. It _should_ hurt. It _needs_ to hurt. After what he went through a few days ago, the thought of his body not hurting is _wrong_.

But when he goes it feels no different than any other time. When he wipes it feels no different than any other time.

Aldzar lets him take another bath again after anyhow.

And when Kurt gets out, Aldzar smears Neosporin over the place that _should_ hurt, the place that _ought_ to hurt, just as carefully as he did that first day.

*

Before they leave the bathroom, Aldzar makes a loose fist. He moves his hand in an up and down motion like…like…

Kurt’s breath catches in his throat. It—the fact that Aldzar is asking this of him doesn’t affect him like it should. It _should_ make him angry, or at least frightened. Instead he feels his pulse kick up in his chest, breath coming faster until he’s practically panting with it.

He takes a second to think about approach. He’s never done this before except for all the ways he has, stroking himself and thinking of Blaine night after night.

He thinks about going from behind. It would be easier. The angle would be better. But he’s afraid Aldzar wouldn’t allow it. That it would give Kurt too much of the upper hand.

So he jerks forward, completely ungraceful, almost as if someone else is controlling his body. And he goes for Aldzar’s fly, unzipping it quick so he can’t talk himself out of it.

He ends up kneeling in front of Aldzar, knees going weak, body betraying him. But when he gets there, he thinks it’s a logical place to be.

He looks up at Aldzar and Aldzar looks down at him with something new in his eyes. Kurt doesn’t take the time to figure out what. He reaches through the fly of Aldzar’s pants, traces a finger along Aldzar’s penis.

And suddenly, Aldzar is across the room and Kurt is lying sprawled out on the floor.

Aldzar is speaking in Spanish, words flying too rapidly for Kurt to try and understand. Kurt can see him gesturing great sweeping movements out of the corner of his eye.

After a few minutes Aldzar slows down. He draws out his words until Kurt can pick out the meaning. “No para mí,” he says waving an arm at Kurt where he’s lying stretched out on the floor. “Para Dino.”

Kurt feels himself curl into a tight ball. He’s not sure if it’s disgust with himself or humiliation that leave him unable to face Aldzar, but he allows it to take him over. “ _Not for me._ ”

 _June 16, 2012—Evening_

Aldzar leads Kurt back to the bedroom. He doesn’t even follow Kurt in this time. On the threshold he gives Kurt a look, then he’s walking away, moving down the hallway.

Dino’s in the room, standing there, as out of place as Noah Puckerman in a museum. He seems crabby, like he’s not even remotely interested in anything Kurt could do for him.

 _How,_ Kurt wonders, _precisely am I supposed to get him interested in the proceedings?_

They stand there not really looking at each other for a few minutes until Kurt gets tired of the status quo. He drops down on the bed. For a few minutes he sits stiffly on the edge, but eventually he rolls his eyes to himself.

Aldzar must want him to do this for a reason. The man doesn’t seem like the type to pull cruel jokes. And Kurt sitting around stiff as a board is hardly going to be a way to accomplish anything.

Kurt lets his back relax, vertebra by vertebra, until he’s curled into a more comfortable position. And then he lets himself go.

He falls back on the bed, cushioning himself with one elbow, and, for the first time since he came in the room, he looks—really _looks_ —at Dino.

Dino doesn’t just look crabby, he also looks…unsettled? Unsure of himself? Uncomfortable in his own skin?

Kurt sighs. He doesn’t get it. Why would Aldzar have him doing this? But no matter how many times he asks himself the question, the answer is still nowhere in sight. So eventually he steels his resolve and takes the bull by the horns.

He pats the bed next to him.

Dino eyes him warily for a second, then he’s eyeing the bed and the quilt and the throw-pillows like they’re all out to get him. But eventually he sits down on the very edge of the bed, back to Kurt.

And this…Kurt thinks he can do this. It would’ve been one thing if Dino was interested in the proceedings. Even last night was difficult in the extreme.

But knowing Dino wants this just as little as Kurt, it suddenly gives Kurt all the power.

Kurt reaches around Dino’s waist. He unzips and unbuttons until his way is clear. Dino makes a noise under his breath, jerks a little under Kurt’s hands.

Kurt touches Dino—his penis where it’s lying soft against his thigh, his scrotum warm and full and lightly furred. And then he lets his touches get a little more intimate.

He strokes warm skin with gentle fingertips, over and over and over again, until Dino can’t help but respond.

He tickles the space behind, soft brushes of finger and nail.

And between one breath and the next, Dino is hard, a thick weight in Kurt’s palm.

His noises change, pants and grunts taking over.

Kurt works him slow, just the way Kurt himself likes it, and minute by minute Dino slides closer, closer…

Until suddenly he’s coming, jerking wet bursts across Kurt’s palm, over his own shirt and slacks.

Afterward, Kurt leaves him there slumped on the bed. And when he opens the door with his clean hand, Aldzar is there looking at him with something in his eyes that’s unfathomable.

*

They walk to the bathroom in silence. Kurt washes his hands.

It’s not until he’s done that he feels himself start to shake.

What he did was wrong. It felt wrong. But, for the first time since he’s been here, it almost felt like he was the perpetrator.

Aldzar pulls him into a hug, body a warm blanket of forgiveness.

After a few minutes standing like that, they walk back to the bedroom.

When they get there, Dino is gone, barely a trace of him left. If it weren’t for the fact that the room still smells a little like sex, Kurt could’ve made the whole thing up.

Aldzar crawls under the covers and pulls Kurt close again. It must be too early to go to sleep, there’s still light coming through the windows. But Aldzar doesn’t seem to care; he just runs his hands over Kurt’s back, humming a little under his breath. Kurt drops off feeling more cared for than he has since his mother was alive.

He hates that it happens when he least deserves it.

 _June 16, 2012—Night_

Kurt wakes up from a dream that spiders are crawling all over his face. He twitches and thrashes in the bed, trying to get them off, trying to get them away. He must spend a solid five minutes rubbing his hands over his face, his head, his neck, before he realizes. It’s not spiders, it’s stubble.

Kurt’s been ignoring his growing beard for the last few days. He’s not the type to wear stubble, certainly not the type to wear it well. Once, near the end of senior year, he’d tried to grow a goatee just to prove a point. It had come in patchy and scraggly and thoroughly unattractive. He’d given it up as a lost cause after less than a week.

This—this is _so_ much worse. He can feel the hair coming in along his jaw, but worse, he can feel it cropping up under his nose. Worst of all are the thick patches he can feel sprouting up all over his neck.

Sometime in the middle of Kurt’s thrashing writhing display of unmanliness, Aldzar had turned the light on. He looks at Kurt now, a question in his eyes.

Kurt grabs Aldzar’s hand, drags it against his face. Kurt winces to feel the prickle-sharp feeling against his skin.

Aldzar winces back in sympathy. Then he takes up a soft croon. “Pobrecito,” he says, “pobrecito.”

Kurt somehow falls back asleep, Aldzar running a careful hand through his hair and talking to him in soft Spanish.

 _June 17, 2012—Morning_

The next time Kurt wakes up it’s to dreams of hot sheets and hotter skin, wet kisses and whispered endearments and skin. Acres and acres of skin.

Kurt’s hard, aching with it, seconds away from coming. He’s rutting himself over and over into…into…

He jerks himself away with a groan feeling a whine build in the back of his throat.

Aldzar just lies there seemingly dead to the world except for the tick in his neck. That and the color high on his face gives him away.

Kurt wants to apologize, wants to say he’s sorry, but how does one accomplish that without words. He tucks himself into a ball feeling despicable. First last night and now today, by the time he works out his escape he’ll be some kind of monster, molesting people left and right. They always say it’s those who are bullied who take up the bullying. Now he knows it’s true for more than just that.

A minute later, or maybe five, Kurt feels a hand on his back. He shrinks away from the comfort, doesn’t deserve it after how he’s been acting. But Aldzar pursues him.

Eventually they lie there, Kurt tucked into his little ball, Aldzar scrunched up tight behind him. Kurt feels safe, protected. He feels forgiven.

*

The routine changes again, inasmuch as there is a routine. Claudio is his keeper watching him with banked hunger in his eyes. Every time he catches Kurt’s eyes, he licks his lips and says, “Blanco,” in a voice like sin.

Kurt figures it’s fair, the punishment fitting the crime. Claudio isn’t difficult to deal with. He keeps his hands to himself, keeps his opinions to himself, and pays Kurt’s work ethic less mind than Dino.

Kurt’s cleaning the kitchenette. It’s the first time he’s been allowed in the space, and as he works he becomes more and more certain that while he was busy last night, someone had come in and Kurt-proofed the place. There are no knives, no forks even, nothing with a blade in sight. There are also no chemicals, no cleaners or bleaches. There’s nothing that could be used in place of rope. No tape or saran wrap or twine. In short, there’s nothing he could use to stage an elaborate escape plan.

He’s not sure if it was their intention to let him know this by providing him with such a lax guard, or if they unintentionally tipped their hand a little early. He’s not sure which one would be more frightening.

Aldzar comes by with someone new—a young guy, possibly younger than Kurt, who’s twitchy and jumpy with suppressed energy. Aldzar looks at him with wariness in his eyes. Aldzar tries to introduce him to Kurt with a string of consonants and vowels that make up nothing but gobbledygook in Kurt’s mind. Claudio steps in then, says, “Feario.”

And Kurt looks at the guy, with eyes a bit manic around the edges and body practically vibrating out of his skin and thinks, _Feario, what a fitting name._

Feario looks like someone who would shank you in a back alley somewhere just for the thrill of it. He looks wild and terrible and Kurt sees Aldzar’s wariness and raises it tenfold.

 _June 17, 2012—Afternoon_

For the first time, one of their little ‘treats’ falls short of the mark. Feario and Aldzar come back in the afternoon with a steaming white bag in their hands. They open it up and Feario pulls out a paper-wrapped lump and tries to hand it to Kurt.

But Kurt sees the package, and, even though the words are in another language, he knows what it is. McDonald’s food.

Kurt doesn’t like heavy food. He doesn’t like the taste of beef or the way it makes him feel after eating—slothful and slow like his body’s trying to go into hibernation. It’s worse yet knowing this came from _his_ world. It’s a reminder of all the things he has back home, all the people he’s missing by being here.

So Kurt doesn’t take the burger or sandwich or whatever it is. Instead he curls into a ball on the floor, back to them. And when one of them tries to grab his attention, pokes him in the back with increasing force, he just tucks himself up tighter and hopes they’ll go away. That all of it will just disappear and he'll magically be back home, teasing Finn and keeping an eye on his dad and just being with Blaine.

*

After half an hour or so of quiet and lack of poking, Kurt lets his body stretch out into a more natural position and before he can change his mind, he turns over and faces his fate. It isn’t Feario standing there getting ready to force-feed him the burger or Claudio with his leers and insinuations and nicknames. It’s Aldzar standing there, looking a mixture of helpless and hopeless.

Kurt gives him a half-smile and Aldzar half-smiles back. And then Aldzar lifts something into view that Kurt wants with all his heart and mind and soul.

It’s a razor. Just a cheap plastic one, nothing like the beautiful horn-handled one Kurt has at home, but Kurt wouldn’t care if it was a rusty cocaine razor. At this point he would take anything.

Aldzar walks him into the bathroom and sits him down on the tub. He gets a washcloth wet and warm and frothy with soap, and rubs it over a good chunk of Kurt’s face. And then he takes the razor in hand and carefully removes half a week’s worth of stubble from Kurt’s face. He works swiftly, but even so Kurt doesn’t receive so much as a nick from the razor blade.

When Kurt’s face is done, Aldzar sets to work on Kurt’s neck. He’s a bit slower here, a bit more careful.

It’s not until Aldzar is wrapping Kurt’s face in a steaming wet towel that Kurt realizes he’s hard, erection straining his borrowed jeans.

He blushes, hopes Aldzar didn’t notice. It’s just _such_ an erotic thing, shaving someone. Having someone shave him. It leaves all of Kurt’s defenses down.

Eventually Kurt raises his eyes, meets Aldzar’s. Aldzar looks a question at him, traces a hand across Kurt’s now clean-shaven cheek, then lets it fall to his hip. His thumb rubs the joint there, where Kurt’s hip meets his thigh. He asks a question, voice low and soft. “Quiere?”

And Kurt doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what it means, doesn’t know what he wants, he just doesn’t know. So he jerks his head into a rough negation, jerks himself back out of reach until his butt is barely touching the edge of the tub.

Aldzar takes his hand away, patting Kurt’s hip with a soft hand. And Kurt sighs, wanting and not wanting and not really knowing what he feels.

 _June 17, 2012—Evening_

After a few more hours in the kitchenette that no longer smells like bacon cheeseburger, Aldzar gestures for Kurt to follow him to the bedroom again.

Kurt walks into the room only to find Feario already there, pacing and chomping at the bit. He looks at Kurt when he comes in, all of his attention focused suddenly on Kurt. It’s almost frightening.

But then Aldzar is entering the room after Kurt, giving Feario a look that’s two parts caution and one part disdain. He sits on the floor, back against the door, and looks as at home as Kurt’s ever seen him.

It sheds a new complexion on the proceedings, especially when Feario launches himself at Kurt almost as soon as the door’s closed. They wind up on the bed by some miracle, more grappling than anything sexual.

But Kurt can feel a telltale hardness at his hip, he can see a flush painting Feario’s cheeks.

Feario rolls them until Kurt’s the one on top, and then he wriggles his body until they’re moving in a rhythm Kurt would rather not engage in. But he can get into the spirit of a fight, so he makes it more about that. When he grinds his hips down, he grinds them down hard. When he grabs Feario’s head, he nearly tears his hair out. And when he flips them back over again it’s more like some kind of wrestling move than anything remotely romantic.

Feario seems to appreciate it; he starts thrusting with even more ferocity.

With their jeans still on, the chafing is almost painful. And between that and the way Feario’s fingers dig into Kurt’s wrists where he’s pinning them and the rabid expression on Feario’s face, Kurt is relieved when Feario jerks in a mixture of surprise and relief and jolts a rapid climax against Kurt’s thigh.

It’s sticky, but considering everything else Kurt has experienced since coming here, a slightly sticky thigh is nothing too terrible.

Less than ten seconds later, Feario is hopping back upright and practically running out of the room, body still on an endorphin high of some kind. It’s unlike anything Kurt’s ever seen.

Aldzar looks up at him from where he’s been virtually kicked out of the way and then he looks down. His face is red, mouth twitching.

Kurt wants to know what he wants to say, wishes he could ask.

*

It’s almost embarrassing for Kurt to strip in front of Aldzar again, especially when Kurt realizes he’s more than half hard, body woken up with exertion.

Kurt gets into the water as fast as possible, scrubs thoroughly but quickly, so Aldzar won’t notice there’s anything amiss. Only, when Kurt’s about halfway done, in the middle of rinsing off his arms, he notices that Aldzar is blatantly _not_ looking at him. That Aldzar _won’t_ look at him.

Kurt makes a splash. Then he makes a louder one. Then he tries to fake a choking sound, only that comes out more as a groan and Kurt’s suddenly worried Aldzar will think a whole lot more is going on than what really is. So Kurt speeds through the rest of his bath and steps out of the water about five minutes earlier than normal.

He’s got his shirt on and is just about to pull his underwear on when Aldzar finally looks at him again. He makes a stopping motion and hurries over to the sink. He grabs the little tube of Neosporin and smoothes it on just as faithfully as ever, only, his fingers must be shaking because when he squeezes it out, too much leaves the tube. It leaves Kurt feeling messy, like there’s something there he needs to wipe off, but it doesn’t hurt anything so Kurt lets it go.

They make their way back to the bathroom then, neither of them meeting the other’s eye. And the bed itself is almost worse.

For the first time it really strikes home, Kurt’s going to bed with another man. Yes, maybe it’s just for sleep, but even that is a pretty big commitment.

He swallows hard, wills the thoughts away, but in their place come up thoughts that are even more disturbing. He wonders why it is that every night both he and Aldzar go to sleep with all their clothes on. There’s no reason for it. It’s still hot as blazes, even at night. There are no forms of malaria breeding insects in the area Kurt knows about. So why is it they aren’t sleeping in their underwear? Or at least in their underwear with an undershirt on top.

It’s strange. And even though Kurt lays down next to Aldzar with all his clothes on like every night before, for the first time he can’t help but wonder why.

 _June 18, 2012—Morning_

They wake up steamily entwined, breathing each others’ air, moving in a full body thrust. Kurt thinks they must wake up around the same time because the first thing he sees in Aldzar’s eyes is lust. But it’s quickly followed by shock.

Aldzar rolls himself to the opposite end of the bed from where he’s positioned on top of Kurt. He clears his throat a few times then says, “Lo siento,” in a thick voice.

And Kurt doesn’t really want to hear it. This is the third morning he’s woken up like this, the third morning he’s denied himself this, and his body’s just about to stage a revolt. He turns away, faces the too-close wall. He seriously considers just masturbating right here where Aldzar can hear everything. It’s just so…frustrating.

Aldzar tries soothing him, rubbing his back and saying a million more ‘lo siento’s, but Kurt’s not having any of it. It’s too much suddenly, the kidnapping and the…what they’re using him for and…how Aldzar isn’t using him. It’s just too much.

So when Aldzar gets up from the bed, Kurt’s more than happy to follow suit, even if his erection is complaining rather strenuously in its limited space.

Kurt makes the bed like every morning. They go to the bathroom like every morning. Kurt empties his bladder like every morning. Kurt eats yet another ham sandwich like every morning. And then Aldzar doesn’t seem to know what to do with him. There aren’t any more floors to clean other than the bedroom, and Kurt’s fairly certain that whoever remade that room did at least a haphazard cleaning.

There may be something to clean behind one of the other unexplored doors in the hallway, but Aldzar doesn’t seem inclined to allow him entrance to either of them.

In the end, Aldzar leaves Kurt in Claudio’s hands, with the implied task of cleaning the refrigerator.

Kurt calls Aldzar a bastard in his head. And a few other less becoming words.

The refrigerator isn’t just old, it seems to have never been cleaned in all the years it was alive. There’s a thick yellow stain on the bottom shelf, a sticky brown stain coating the freezer, a disgusting black sludge in the bottom of both the fruit and veggie drawers, rust coating both of the metal shelves in the middle of the refrigerator.

It’s the most disgusting thing Kurt’s ever had to do in his life.

He puts Claudio to work for once, making him help move the refrigerator so they can unplug it, then hold the door open so Kurt can scrub without losing an eye or something.

It’s a dirty job, but it’s almost rewarding to see the bottom shelf lose its yellow color and regain its natural beige inch by inch. Even more so when he breaks out the steel wool on the metal shelves and the rust actually comes off.

Of course, the sludge is nothing but disgusting. Kurt’s going to aim an ‘accidental’ elbow or two at Aldzar in bed tonight for that sludge.

 _June 18, 2012—Afternoon_

Something’s wrong. Or, at least, Kurt thinks there’s something wrong. Aldzar doesn’t come for him at lunch, instead Dino rushes in with all the energy he’s never shown before and speaks in low words to Claudio. It’s almost as if he’s afraid of being heard, which really worries Kurt. He doesn’t know Spanish, barely can muddle through things like hello and goodbye. What does Dino think Kurt shouldn’t hear?

It all gets a lot worse when Claudio rushes out without even so much as securing the refrigerator door first. Kurt almost gets brained, but Dino catches the door in time. He slants a look down at Kurt—a deeply concerned look.

 _This isn’t good,_ Kurt thinks. Dino has never looked at him before, period. He’s certainly never looked at Kurt with intent like that. It’s worrying, deeply troubling, that he should start to do so now.

Kurt doesn’t go back to cleaning. He washes his hands and his wrists at the sink, scrubs until they’re clean again, and then he starts pacing. Dino doesn’t call him on it, he doesn’t try and force Kurt back to work. He just watches Kurt pace, gaze divided between Kurt and the door.

 _Something is wrong,_ Kurt thinks. That much is obvious. Dino wouldn’t be practically vibrating with suppressed energy if something wasn’t extremely wrong. _The question is: what?_

It comes to him at the same time as the noise does. Sharp thumps from the hallway herald his sudden knowledge that something, _something_ is _wrong_ with Aldzar.

The door flies open and Kurt turns to face it. And promptly blacks out.

*

Kurt comes to suddenly, bright light blinding him momentarily. He seems to be seated on a metal chair, wrists and ankles taped to the legs, mouth taped closed.

He tries to squint his eyes open to make out his surroundings. There’s a bright overhead light shining directly in his face. Whatever room he’s in, there’s no outside light coming in. It’s big, too. He can’t see the walls in any direction. And the floor seems to be concrete.

A concrete floor in a huge room means…

Kurt tries kicking himself free. For the first time in days he tries to speak, or at least make noise. He can’t die like this, executed in some warehouse in the middle of nowhere. It’s—that can’t be how his end comes.

His struggles bring some attention, just from the wrong quarter. Kurt blinks and suddenly the bull-like man is standing in front of him again. He slaps Kurt across the cheek, hard enough that the other side of his face impacts the chair back.

“You think you are smart, no?” the man says in a threatening tone. “Turning my own men against me like the whore you are.” He slaps Kurt again. It brings tears to his eyes.

“I leave for three days—for _three days,_ and—“ he pauses to snap his fingers—“like that, you have Aldzar wrapped around your little finger.” He pulls Kurt’s head back by the hair, holds him like that until he can’t help but meet the man’s eyes. “You fancy American with your fancy looks and fancy whoring. What did you do? How did you do it?” His voice gets louder, angrier, spittle flying from his mouth.

“Heyfey,” comes a voice from the shadows. Kurt thinks it might be Claudio, but it’s too hard to tell.

“Silencio,” the man says like a slap, like the hand of God designed to strike down mere mortals.

He turns his attention back to Kurt, and it’s like the fury has ratcheted up another degree. “I trusted him and you twisted him against me. I treated him like a son. One week with you and he questions what I say, what I do. He wants to _let you free._ ”

He spits at Kurt, it lands on his thigh. “A piece of swine like you. This he cares about? A chingalera like you?” He slaps Kurt’s ear, leaves it ringing, so the next words come as if from a distance. “You do not deserve to breathe.”

Suddenly Kurt’s being ripped roughly from his bonds. He winds up on hands and knees, wrists and ankles stinging from where the tape tried to cut through his skin.

His pants are lowered, briefs too, and he has a second to think, _At least it’s happened before. At least I know what’s coming. I survived last time,_ before the feel of a strong breeze glances across Kurt’s back, followed by the sound of a loud, “ _CRACK_.”

Kurt doesn’t feel the pain at first. Then suddenly it explodes across his lower back in a line like fire. _Oh, no,_ he thinks, _oh, god, no._

The strokes come fast and hard and seemingly without aim. Sometimes there are three hits in a row in exactly the same place, and sometimes they are scattered, far enough from the mark to hit fabric in their path.

Kurt thinks it will never end. He thinks he will black out before it’s all over. But eventually the whip slows in its path of destruction and then, finally, stops.

He lies there, panting through his nose, trying to get enough air.

And then the man speaks again. “Bring Aldzar,” he says, and for some reason it makes Kurt’s heart sink.

*

They leave Kurt on his hands and knees, only, less hands and more elbows now. He must have lost his balance during the whipping. Time drags while Kurt waits.

But then there’s a gasp and angry words in Spanish. And Kurt knows they’re coming from Aldzar. He knows Aldzar’s voice now, too well for such a short period of time.

The man speaks back, voice low and violent sounding. He walks away from Kurt—toward where Aldzar must be. Then comes the sound of a smack. Only this time, it’s not Kurt on the receiving end.

There’s the sound of a brief struggle, and then Aldzar is pulled into the light, into Kurt’s line of vision. His hands are tied in front of him, there’s dried blood on his face. He looks dirty, sweaty—nothing like how he usually looks. It makes Kurt’s heart break a little.

“No more,” says the man, voice hard. “No more turning Aldzar against me. I will make it so you hate him. So you wish he was never born.”

That’s all the more warning Kurt gets before Aldzar is suddenly gone from his sight with a loud ripping sound.

He feels a warm presence behind him and braces himself. He knows what this is. This is what he was expecting before. The bull-like man is going to take him, and there’s nothing he can do to stop him. But as the body gets closer to his, as it pushes against him, Kurt hears a whisper-soft “lo siento” breathed into his ear.

Kurt shudders with relief, then with fear. Because the man was right, if there’s one thing that will turn Kurt against Aldzar, especially after hearing what he tried to do for Kurt, this would be it. To be taken like this, without any preparation, in front of at least two men? That would be hard to come back from.

Aldzar pushes inside then, but it’s no fast thrust, no harsh drive forward. It’s slow, almost achingly slow. And it’s not—it’s not painful, at least, not as painful as Kurt expected.

After last time, Kurt expected it to be torture. Especially with no stretching at all, with no form of slickness to ease the way. It’s a bit of a shock that it goes as smoothly as it does.

It does hurt, but it hurts less inside than it did last time. Most of the hurt is on his skin, the lashes from the whip still smarting—even worse when skin hits skin.

Kurt can’t think of why—why it doesn’t hurt as much as it should—until suddenly he remembers a little yellow tube and slightly shaky fingers. He lets out a sigh, whole body relaxing. At least this won’t be impossible to get through.

The man says something then, something in Spanish. It must be to Aldzar, because, he’s suddenly picking up speed. His penis drives into Kurt hard, harder. He grabs Kurt’s hips to thrust harder yet. But he must be doing something to control it, because his skin is no longer hitting Kurt’s raw backside. It’s just his erection driving into Kurt over and over and over again.

Kurt starts to feel a flush overtake him. His body doesn’t hate this, not like before, not like last time. It’s almost welcoming the intrusion now. He feels himself start to lengthen, growing half hard, then harder. He tries to will it away, but it’s like, as soon as his body saw the good in this, he could no longer will it to see the negative.

The man talks then, Spanish, then English. “Look at the chingalera. Begging for cock like a whore. No wonder Aldzar likes him. He always did like the easy ones.”

It makes Kurt furious—absolutely raging mad. He wants to strike out, wants to do something awful, something hideous. He wants to go soft again, make it impossible for the man to mock either of them. He wants to orgasm just from _this_. Just from Aldzar’s erection pushing into him over and over and over again.

Aldzar seems to have the same thought. He stops moving for a second. Then he’s shifting Kurt, shifting himself. He starts up again, harder than before. And Kurt feels this _surge_ of pulsing white… _god_ … _pleasure_. It’s almost too much, almost overwhelms him, but then it’s receding.

It’s—Kurt knows what it is. Intellectually he knows that’s his prostrate. And all Aldzar is doing is providing prostate stimulation. But—the difference between knowing and _feeling_ … And then Aldzar is pushing into him again, hitting just there, just perfect, and Kurt can’t remember his own name.

Kurt rides on a wave of ever-increasing pleasure for what seems like forever, until suddenly his body convulses and he feels himself coming. In the back of his mind, he can tell Aldzar is coming too, body stuttering into Kurt’s without rhythm.

Everything is still for a moment, just a wave of perfect bliss, and then a pair of boots appear in his line of vision. Words are spoken in Spanish, and then he bends down, looks Kurt in the eye. “I told him not to let you come next time,” he says with a cruel smile. And then he kicks Kurt in the nose.

*

The second time it’s still fantastic, still heat and sweat and perfect rhythm, and even if Kurt had been able to come, he couldn’t have come anyway. He’s just barely getting hard again himself.

The third time is rougher. The slide is slicker, eased by ejaculate. But the pleasure is almost too much. Kurt quakes with it, the need to come. And when Aldzar holds it off, pinching just there and then _squeezing_ right there, Kurt feels his whole body start to shiver.

He keeps shivering through the whole fourth round, almost whiting out at one point when Aldzar hits his prostate at _exactly_ the right angle. By the fifth round, though, the pain is taking up more of his attention than the pleasure.

His muscles _ache_ all of them hot with agony. His skin is burning up, sweat and dirt making the lashes hurt even worse. And his passage—it’s _raw_ , pulsing, an open wound unlike any he’s ever felt.

Kurt realizes they must have given Aldzar something around the start of the sixth round. Aldzar’s hard again, or still hard, and it’s ridiculous, the idea of anyone having that many orgasms in that short a period of time.

All told, they go a grand total of eight rounds. At least, Kurt thinks it’s eight rounds. He may have lost count somewhere in the middle. He’s certainly lost his ability to stay even half upright around then.

After the eighth round, Aldzar finally goes soft inside him.

Kurt can feel nothing but relief. It’s all that they’ve left him to feel.

 _Night_

Kurt wakes up strapped to a bed—to _the_ bed—naked. He must have been knocked out. He doesn’t remember anything after the last time Aldzar and he had sex.

He turns his head, tries to see if anyone else is in the room, but no one’s there. It’s night outside, stars showing through the open curtains. Kurt can’t tell what night it is anymore. He can’t figure out if it was hours or days he spent in that warehouse.

He’s shocked into a laugh, or what would be a laugh if it weren’t for the tape, by the thought that he’s still alive. It’s ridiculous, preposterous, the thought of him still being alive after what he thought. But somehow he is. For some reason he’s still alive and breathing.

The door opens then, and Scar enters. It’s at that exact moment that Kurt realizes he’s naked, strapped open and waiting like some kind of primitive sacrifice.

Scar smiles a cruel smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He says something, but Kurt can’t hear for the rushing in his ears.

He runs his hands over Kurt then, over his thighs and stomach, penis and scrotum and rear end. It feels possessive. It feels animalistic.

Scar rubs the place behind Kurt’s scrotum, over and over again until Kurt can’t help responding. And then Scar’s grabbing his penis in a grip that’s just a little too demanding, just a little too hungry. He jerks his hand hard, too hard, and suddenly Kurt is on fire again, even as his mind is screaming, _NO!_

Scar enters him then and it hurts _so much_. But his body doesn’t seem to be able to feel the pain anymore because he’s still hard in Scar’s hand, still swollen with need.

Scar’s thrusts are painful, tearing something inside. And his hand is cruel, twisting and pulling and demanding too much from him.

Kurt feels tears forming in his eyes, feels his stomach rise to his throat. And then Scar leans over and twists Kurt’s nipple with all his might. Kurt comes on a scream that will never be heard, tears leaking down his face.

 _Morning_

Kurt must black out again, but this time he doesn’t care how long he’s been out for. He just wishes he could’ve stayed knocked out for a little longer, just until rescue came.

Claudio’s the one taking care of him this time. It feels wrong, but Kurt guesses there’s no right anymore. That perhaps there never was.

Claudio walks him down the hallway, propping him up with both arms. They make it to the bathroom without falling over and then Claudio’s filling the tub.

Kurt knows his anal passage must be a mess. He knows his body couldn’t have dealt with that much abuse without reacting negatively—in the extreme. But all of that seems secondary to the memory of unwanted hands running over him, unwanted attentions paid to every inch of him.

He holds the memories—even the painful ones—of Aldzar close to him. They are true. Even when it was too much and his penis was trying to crawl back up into his body, it was being true. What happened with Scar was wrong, was an aberration.

Claudio helps him into the tub, then rolls his pants up and slips behind him, legs cradling his back. He leans close to Kurt, whispers right in his ear, “Aldzar say ‘sorry.’ He no mean…hurt you.”

“I know,” Kurt says. He doesn’t realize he spoke at first, doesn’t recognize his own voice. But suddenly two and two come together and then he gasps. _Wrong, wrong, don’t do that._

It’s only then that Kurt realizes he’s completely without tape. His mouth is free, his ankles are free, everything is pure skin again except for the one circle of black tape surrounding his wrist, now overlaid with silver.

The silver gleams in the early morning light. Kurt wishes it was pure black again.

“ ‘s okay,” Claudio says, picking up the washcloth and starting to scrub Kurt’s back. “Sh, Blanco, ‘s okay.”

Kurt doesn’t believe him. Kurt doesn’t believe it will ever be okay again.

 _Afternoon_

Kurt doesn’t have to clean anymore. He’s not sure if it’s because he already got everything done that needed to be done, or if it’s simply because of the new regime. Instead he sits on the tiled floor, one arm taped to the pipe, the rest of him mostly free. He thinks Claudio’s trying to let him escape, but he’s all weak limbs and cramped muscles from too much staying in one position. He would be just as likely to straighten the Tower of Pisa as he is to get free of some measly tape.

It hurts just to sit there. Kurt doesn’t like to think about it, certainly doesn’t like to think of why, but his rear end feels like it’s on fire, like it’s actually bleeding.

He’s almost grateful that they haven’t fed him yet. He knows it’s not good, that it’s certainly not good for him, to go this long without food. But he can’t seem to care.

He’s not sure how long it’s been. A day? More? In either case it’s been too long.

But the idea of putting anything into his body makes his stomach rebel. And the idea of the natural outcome of putting anything into his body makes his bottom clench.

Which just starts the whole cycle of pain all over again.

Claudio comes eventually and gives him water. And it’s good. It’s good to drink something. It makes his mind clear a little.

Claudio never talks to him in the main room. Aldzar even tried to quiet him there. So it’s likely that there’s some kind of listening system picking up on everything said, every word spoken.

The only place any of them seem wholly comfortable is the bathroom. Which, admittedly, doesn’t mean it’s safe. But perhaps it means that it’s safer than any other room in the building.

Kurt knows that Aldzar won’t be given any kind of freedom anymore, but it seems that Claudio is of the same mind as Aldzar. Or at least as if he’s closer in mind to Aldzar than to the rest of Kurt’s captors.

So after Kurt’s done with the water he tilts his head toward the bathroom. And like magic, Claudio produces a pocket knife and cuts Kurt free.

The two of them walk into the bathroom, but when the door’s closed, Kurt doesn’t walk to the toilet. He turns and looks at Claudio, just looks at him.

Claudio walks close, closer, then he’s pulling Kurt into a hug. “I try,” he whispers into Kurt’s hair. “We try.”

 _Evening_

Claudio comes by again in the evening with water and a bath. Between the whipping and the bonds and the overabuse of his body…in other ways, Kurt’s tempted to lie in the bath all night—not that he’d get away with it.

In the middle of scrubbing his back, Claudio palms Kurt three Tylenol. “Aldzar,” he says, making circles across Kurt’s spine.

It makes Kurt wonder if they’re taping him. If there’s some kind of visual feed going to the higher ups. He pretends to yawn just in case, knocking the pills into his mouth with the palm of his hand. And dry swallows the pills. Who really cares about the stomach lining when they’re in a situation like his?

Claudio speaks again, against Kurt’s neck. “Tree day. Den…” He makes a crude gesture that Kurt’s all too clear on the meaning of, thank you very much.

So Kurt gets a respite. Three days and then he’s up for grabs yet again. It’s not much, not _enough_ one would think, but it sounds like heaven to Kurt.

The thing is, even though Kurt can’t tell what day it is, and even though he really can’t tell for sure how long he’s been here, he knows it’s been at least a week. And he knows that means help _must_ be on its way. It can’t be too long before they find him.

He pushes the thoughts of old abandoned warehouses and what they mean aside. Just because movies show that abandoned warehouses are always the sites of hideous deaths doesn’t mean it’s actually true. How often are movies right anyhow?

*

The Neosporin tube is practically empty when Claudio’s done with him. Kurt thinks Claudio did this last time too, but he can barely remember this morning, all of it taken up in a haze of _Please god no!_

It’s not until Kurt’s getting taped to the pipes again that he realizes just how good he had it before. There’s no doubt about it, he will ache tomorrow after spending a night on the floor.

Claudio leaves with no words, just a single look of regret.

Kurt tries to find a comfortable position but it’s completely impossible. He tries to find an angle where he can will himself to sleep, but everything _hurts_ too much.

After a while he gives up and instead starts up an endless stream of masochism. He starts remembering the night he was taken.

It had been nice out, he thinks. It had been gorgeous out, and his dad and Carole had gone out for date night. Finn had gorged himself on enchiladas and hadn’t wanted to move, but Kurt had wanted to go out.

Burt had instated a rule that no one go out on their own, but Kurt had ignored this rule for once. He’d taken his favorite bag, favorite sunglasses, and left, telling Finn not to expect him for a few hours.

He had been so foolish, he can see that now. All he had to do was convince Finn to go out with him, or wait for his dad to get back and go out with him, or just not go out in the first place.

It had been his own fault. His dad had _told_ him Mexico wasn’t safe. And now he’s experiencing the reality first-hand.

It makes a twisted kind of sense that he’s been kidnapped.

The biggest problem—the thing he really doesn’t even like to think about—is the fact that he never told anyone where he was going. He had gone to the little shops downtown to look at cheap tacky gifts to get for people like Rachel and Mr. Schuester. But he could just as easily have gone to one of the cathedrals or the beach or just on a walk through the neighborhood.

Kurt’s always thought of himself as smart, but this…this makes him start to revise that notion.

 _Morning_

He ends up spending the night revisiting all the ways he messed up since waking up here. Between the amount of times he did something he shouldn’t have and the amount of pressure he placed on Aldzar to just _do_ something, just get him _free_ already, Kurt has more than enough regrets to think about to cover the whole night.

There’s a window of maybe an hour, maybe thirty minutes, where he might have been asleep. But if he was, he’d dreamt of his mistakes as well.

Dino’s the one who comes to him in the morning. In a way it’s a relief. He doesn’t deserve Claudio’s kindnesses.

Dino cuts him free and lets him urinate and brush his teeth. And then they’re back in the great room and a sandwich magically appears in his hand.

Kurt takes one look at it and starts crying. He doesn’t want to cry, but the tears just start and won’t stop.

In the end, Dino practically shoves the sandwich down Kurt’s throat. There’s a good moment or two where Kurt’s certain, absolutely certain, it’s going to come right back up again, but the moment passes and eventually the sandwich settles in his stomach.

Dino reattaches him to the wall, and when he’s done, Kurt’s arm looks more like it belongs to a mummy than a human being.

It’s all that Kurt deserves, really.

 _Evening_

Kurt spends the day hoping for rescue, but when evening comes with no sign of it, he gives up hope for the day.

It’s Dino who comes to lead him to his nightly ablutions. Dino, who _doesn’t_ watch him bathe, _doesn’t_ watch him urinate, _doesn’t_ rub Neosporin on his wounds.

Kurt knows that at this point the Neosporin probably won’t make that much difference for the actual healing, but he still wishes he had it.

And secretly, in the part of himself he’s most ashamed of, he wishes it was Aldzar here. He wishes it was Aldzar saying unknown things in Spanish to him and scrubbing his back and rubbing Neosporin _everywhere_ and stealing Tylenol for him. He wishes it, even if it would get Aldzar in trouble. Even if it would get him beaten or tied up or threatened. For once, he wants something just for himself. Comfort.

It disgusts him to feel so selfish, but he can’t turn it off.

So when Dino brings another ham sandwich, Kurt forces it down without complaint.

 _Morning_

Kurt wakes up from a fitful night’s sleep to find Claudio already there. This is the moment Kurt has been dreading. Claudio said three days, but three days in what sense. Is it two days from now? Or is it today? Now?

But Claudio doesn’t look at him with worry or concern, not in any way that should raise any alarm bells in Kurt’s head. He just cuts Kurt free like always and helps him up like always and takes him to the bathroom like always.

While Kurt’s urinating, Claudio says, “One day.” And that’s…good. It’s good that Kurt has a finite time now, a specific amount of time until the dreaded happens again.

He has a day in which to get rescued. A day set aside for hoping for freedom.

Claudio produces a new tube of Neosporin and covers Kurt from head to toe. “Blanco, mí Blanco,” he says under his breath. He touches Kurt so carefully, like Kurt’s made of glass.

Kurt sees the way Claudio looks at him, different now than before. He sees the lust has changed to something deeper, something more difficult to explain away with just a word.

And where before Claudio’s attentions made Kurt nervous, now they make him feel almost safe. It’s not a true safety, but the feeling of _safer_ comes whenever it’s Claudio and not Dino walking in the door.

Before they leave the bathroom, Claudio slips another Tylenol into his hand.

And when they’re in the great room, he even contrives to get Kurt a glass of water to swallow it down with.

 _Afternoon_

It’s not until Claudio leaves that Kurt notices how very light the tape is. He knows it must be for a reason, that this must be his chance. He’s being given a chance for freedom, and he knows he has to take it.

He works on it for what seems like forever, tape splitting every time he gets a good grip. But eventually, finally, he works his way loose.

After he’s free, he just stares at his arm for a good minute without moving at all. It’s so strange to be able to move freely, so foreign.

But then he hears a bird squawk outside the window and the moment is over.

He scrambles upright and out the door to the hallway. He knows which door leads to the outside, and makes directly for it. No time to explore other options.

When he gets to the door it’s locked from the outside.

Kurt wants to cry, wants to bash his head against the wall.

But…there are two doors he hasn’t explored yet. It’s—it’s possible. They _could_ lead to freedom.

He wrenches open the first.

It’s a closet. He feels his heart plummet.

He doesn’t take time to inventory what’s inside, instead he rushes over to the second.

When he opens the door only to see another closet, he feels the tears start.

He sinks down to the floor, curls his knees up to his chest. This was supposed to be his moment, his grand escape from…from tomorrow and _everything_ that went with it. Instead he’s left with nothing.

Nothing, except a very obvious escape attempt. That will get him whipped again, or worse.

He jumps up, rushes to close both closet doors.

He runs back to the great room, to the pipe. He peels off some of the excess tape from Dino, tries to make it look like he’s attached to the wall, and not a moment too soon.

Dino himself walks in five minutes later. He cuts Kurt free without even looking at the bindings.

Suddenly, Kurt sees the loose piece of tape lying on the floor like a silent accusation. He tries to hide it with his foot, but it’s too late. Dino picks up the piece of tape, looks at it with disgust.

Kurt’s heart stops. He braces himself knowing any moment Dino will turn on him. _Knowing_ any moment Dino will beat him to a bloody pulp, or drag him to the man to get beaten even worse, or possibly just kill him and have done with it.

But Dino doesn’t turn on him. Dino doesn’t look at him at all. He just turns away and walks to the trash can muttering “sucio” under his breath.

He throws the tape into the trash can. Kurt’s heart suddenly starts beating again.

*

From Kurt’s attempt at escape he’s discovered three things. First, there is only one entrance to the building. This is both disappointing and enlightening. Kurt has always had it in the back of his mind that his kidnappers were simply inhabiting another section of the building. Now, he wonders if maybe the warehouse is used for something other than threatening hapless victims.

Second, there is either no visual surveillance of the building Kurt’s staying in, or else it is very poorly monitored. This is one of the only pieces of good news Kurt’s received in a while. Not that it will end up doing him a lot of good, but at least it gives him a little more leeway with Claudio.

The third is less easy to quantify, more a series of ‘if, then’s than an actual statement of fact. If Claudio is a moron, then he didn’t realize Kurt wouldn’t be able to escape. This doesn’t seem terribly likely, not that Claudio seems particularly intelligent but more that he seems more intelligent than a dog.

If Claudio is vindictive, then he allowed Kurt’s partial freedom for personal gratification. Again, not very likely. Claudio seems more interested in the simpler carnal pleasures than any type of sadism.

If Claudio is terribly careless then he may not even have realized Kurt could get free of the tape. This is possibly the most likely, considering how young he is and how he’s left Kurt’s bonds loose more than once.

Of course there’s always the outside chance that Claudio knew what he was doing. And if Claudio knew what he was doing, then Kurt must be the stupid one. There must have been another latch on the door or another bar on the doorframe or…something…something that would let Kurt out.

So Kurt vows to keep his eyes open. He promises himself that if he obtains his freedom again, he will take the time to look through each of the closets, inventory their contents for anything remotely useful. Maybe it’s something as simple as Claudio expecting Kurt to be able to pick a lock with a paper clip.

And if that’s the case, Kurt will learn lock picking if it’s the last thing he does.

He doesn’t let himself think of what he will do if he ever manages to escape the building. He’ll get to that when he comes to it.

 _Evening_

Claudio comes back again that night. He gives Kurt a look that could be asking why Kurt hasn’t escaped. Or it could be checking if Kurt wants a quickie in the broom closet. It’s too difficult to interpret.

Claudio lets Kurt take a bath, then he pulls out another disposable razor and starts to shave Kurt.

It’s different from when Aldzar did it. Claudio’s hands aren’t as steady. He’s not as fast, not as careful. He nicks Kurt, then he nicks him again. He winces, face scrunched up until he looks more like a ferret than ever.

But he rinses Kurt’s face carefully, applies Neosporin to the nicks, then to all the rest of the places where remembered hurts still haunt Kurt.

When he’s done, he pulls Kurt close to him, he holds Kurt against him and rocks him a little. “Aldzar,” he whispers in Kurt’s ear. “One day. Aldzar.”

And Kurt’s heart tries to sink and rise at the same time. It’s horrible-wonderful. It’s wrong-perfect.

But as Claudio pulls back, kisses him on the cheek, Kurt realizes all that matters is the fact that it _is_.

 _Night_

Kurt dreams. He dreams that he’s at home. That his dad’s having a barbeque and everyone is there. Finn’s making grilled cheese on the George Foreman and Rachel’s mixing alcohol punch in a giant garbage can. Quinn is smoking something that doesn’t look like a cigarette and Puck is trying to get everyone in Kurt’s back yard to give him fifty bucks.

Kurt walks down the path that seems a lot longer than the one at home. He passes Santana and Brit making out and Schuester singing loudly with April Rhodes and Jacob Ben Israel taking pictures of two people Kurt’s never seen before having sex on his lawn. He keeps walking.

There’s something. Something he’s missing. He can’t quite place what it is, he just knows something’s not there. Something’s not there that’s supposed to be. He walks behind a rhododendron and suddenly, right in front of him, is Aldzar. When Kurt looks at Aldzar, he sees that Aldzar’s crying. Except, instead of tears, there’s blood flowing from his eyes.

Kurt tries to wipe them away. It’s wrong. Bad that Aldzar’s hurt.

He looks down at the blood coating his hand, then back at Aldzar’s cheeks. But where there were tears before, now there are cuts.

The cuts seem familiar somehow…somehow Kurt knows he should be able to place them. He should be able to figure it out.

He steps back, then steps back further, and then he’s looking at Aldzar again. Only, instead of Aldzar, it was Scar the whole time. It was Scar under his hands and it’s still Scar now. Scar jumps forward laughing—

And Kurt wakes up.

 _The next day_

Kurt doesn’t sleep after that, can’t. It’s too frightening, too creepy. And if Kurt’s honest with himself, it’s a little too close to home.

Kurt doesn’t like to be honest with himself.

Dino lets Kurt use the bathroom and brings Kurt yet another ham sandwich, and Kurt eats it slowly thinking about the dream and what’s to come and a million and a half other things. Dino slaps him, then leaves taking the rest of the sandwich with him.

It’s no hardship to Kurt. He didn’t want the sandwich anyway.

In the afternoon Claudio comes looking down the hall both ways before turning back to Kurt.

When they go into the bathroom, Claudio drops to his knees.

It startles Kurt, throws him for a loop. Claudio’s never done that before, never done anything like that before.

But faster than Kurt can think, Claudio’s there, in Kurt’s space. He tucks his head into Kurt’s side, looks up at him with half-lidded eyes. “From Aldzar,” he says.

And then he’s slipping Kurt’s pants open, breathing on Kurt where he’s soft in his borrowed briefs. He runs stubble over Kurt’s hip, over Kurt’s thigh where his jeans have slid down.

Kurt’s body starts to respond almost before he knows what’s happening. And then Claudio’s mouth is traveling over Kurt’s penis. Claudio sucks open mouthed kisses along Kurt’s length through the briefs and runs a finger over Kurt’s cotton-encased scrotum.

It’s startling. Kurt never imagined he would receive his first blow job in a bathroom. He never planned on being that kind of cliché. But in all honesty, it doesn’t matter that it’s a bathroom. He could be here or in his room back home with Finn pounding on the door or on the moon for all the difference it would make to Kurt now. For all the difference if would make to his penis.

He’s stiff, tenting the front of his briefs obscenely. Claudio groans, licking him through the slit then groans some more.

His underwear disappear around the same time Claudio starts tonguing over and over the slit. Kurt always imagined he would be self conscious for this but he doesn’t have the time. He moans when Claudio’s mouth circles him without the barrier of fabric between, moans louder when Claudio’s head starts to bob.

It feels—boy howdy it feels wonderful. Like every inch of him is surrounded with the hottest…the wettest…

Claudio does something with his tongue and Kurt’s knees give out.

Kurt must black out a second. When he comes back to himself, Claudio’s pulled him down until he’s sitting on the tub.

Everything goes faster from there, Claudio’s head moving faster, his tongue making dirty patterns all over Kurt’s erection. It goes on for what feels like forever, and then, suddenly, Claudio’s taking him deep, making a sound in the back of his throat. And like that, Kurt comes almost against his will.

As Kurt comes down from the afterglow, he starts to feel worried. He knows the etiquette of blow jobs, even if it isn’t from personal experience. He knows it’s impolite to orgasm in someone’s mouth, especially without warning.

But when he looks at Claudio, Claudio looks like the cat who got the cream.

*

Claudio takes him down the hallway right away after, before Kurt’s really has the time to collect himself. Aldzar is there, but Scar is there too.

It feels like some sort of betrayal.

But it’s Aldzar who strips his clothes off, Aldzar who touches him in a way that’s almost reverent—at least, he does until Scar says something scathing in Spanish.

Things go quickly from there. This time there’s lubricant smeared at Kurt’s passage. And there’s a finger shoved inside, then another, then another. It feels like too much in a way, but at the same time it feels like not enough.

And then the fingers are gone and Aldzar is shoving in.

Kurt feels himself try to go hard like some sort of Pavlovian response, but his body can’t quite accommodate him.

But it doesn’t really matter. All that really matters is the way that Aldzar moves inside him, thrusts still gentle but at the same time fast, thorough.

Aldzar pushes and _pushes_ and _PUSHES_ into him, and then Kurt feels him stiffening even further, coming behind him, inside him, faster than Kurt would have ever thought possible. He leans closer, breathes into Kurt’s ear a “lo siento” and then he tacks another word on for good measure. “Meeho.”

It’s done too fast, before it’s even begun. But it’s good. It’s wonderful that it’s done so quickly.

When Scar makes a disgusted noise and spits into the corner, Kurt can’t help but tense up. He didn’t sign up for a two for one deal, but it seems that’s the direction this is going. But then again, he didn’t sign up for any of this. What more is one go at it going to do?

But when Aldzar pulls out of him, Scar doesn’t rush to take his place. Instead both he and Aldzar leave and Claudio comes in and takes him down the hall again.

And when Kurt’s re-attached to the wall, when he’s back to sitting on the hard ground, it hurts. But it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as Kurt thought it would.

 _The next day_

Dino wakes Kurt up with a glass of water…splashed on his face.

It’s terrible. It makes him feel like he’s drowning, choking for air he can’t get.

But when Dino leaves again, Kurt manages to fall back asleep fairly easy despite the water puddling the floor.

Later Dino comes back again, and Kurt half-heartedly wonders if he managed to get Claudio in trouble too. It would make him feel bad, but at the same time, Kurt’s in enough trouble of his own to realize worrying about others is secondary.

It’s a shock, though, when Dino pulls him down the hall only to reveal Claudio already splayed out on the bed Kurt used to think of as his own.

Dino leaves, leaves the two of them alone, and as soon as the door’s closed, Claudio is mouthing a wet mark at Kurt’s neck, licking patterns into his skin.

“Blanco,” Claudio says on a gasp when Kurt’s hands land on Claudio’s hips. They push down, pin Claudio to the bed, and it’s like they’re not actually a part of him at all. Like Kurt’s body is moving on its own.

He pushes his crotch into Claudio hard enough that it should hurt. But Claudio chokes back a moan.

They scrabble together into some kind of rhythm rutting harder and harder and harder, clothes restricting, but at the same time adding something to it. And then, between one breath and the next, Claudio’s back is arching into an impossible angle and he’s coming.

Kurt doesn’t know what to do, so he doesn’t do anything at all. He stops mid thrust, body strung up on too many endorphins to make anything clear anymore.

But then Claudio’s rolling them over, reaching down and opening Kurt’s pants and running a hand over Kurt’s erection. Kurt shakes, body stuck in some kind of shock.

Claudio makes an approving noise, then he’s running his fist over Kurt, squeezing tighter and tighter and tighter until Kurt’s whole body spasms. He comes silently, but all the stronger for it.

They lie there together afterward, Claudio mouthing hot breaths into Kurt’s skin, licking ejaculate from Kurt’s stomach, and for some reason none of it seems real. At first it’s just the last ten minutes, then it’s the last week. Then it’s this whole experience, the whole time he’s been here. None of it seems real. It all seems like some kind of awful trip of a dream.

But eventually Claudio makes him get up and Dino’s waiting at the door. By the time Kurt’s being re-attached to the wall, there’s no doubt in his mind that it’s real.

 _The next weeks_

It becomes a sort of a pattern after that, Kurt spending his nights trying to sleep and his days trying to sleep more. Getting two ham sandwiches per day and three trips to the bathroom. Claudio and Dino blurring together into one category of _keeper_ , the only distinguishing trait being _nice_ keeper or _mean_ keeper.

In the evening it’s a trip to the bedroom and some kind of sex with whoever’s turn it is. Kurt thinks there’s some kind of rotation. He doesn’t care enough to try and figure out what that rotation is.

Scar is always rough. He brutalizes Kurt’s body then he seems to make Kurt come just for a laugh. He doesn’t leave Kurt bleeding anymore, though. Aldzar is always there to pull him back if he goes too far.

Claudio never puts his penis inside Kurt at all. It’s strange, because he often licks Kurt to a bone-melting orgasm, but Kurt doesn’t question it.

Feario is the most erratic, sometimes rutting Kurt into the mattress, sometimes screwing him into it, sometimes just taking Kurt’s hand as a substitute. It’s the worst on nights when Feario’s there, because Kurt doesn’t know what to expect.

Dino never asks for more than a hand. He seems uncomfortable with even that, but he never turns it down either.

And then there’s Aldzar. Aldzar always tries to be gentle. He always pushes into Kurt slow, so slow, that Kurt feels as if he’s melting—body strung out like salt water taffy. He always makes Kurt feel like he’s burning from the inside out, body shifting into a whole new animal whenever it’s Aldzar inside of him.

Scar is always there, though, making sure Kurt doesn’t come.

Some days Aldzar sends Claudio before and then it’s easier, then he can just be there for Aldzar. But some days Claudio doesn’t come until after. Those days are the hard ones. Those are the times Kurt feels as if he’ll never be whole again, body burning just to let go but not being able to, not being able to do anything.

When Claudio comes afterward, Kurt never lets him do anything. It’s too much, his body on overload already. He doesn’t want anything else adding to it.

He doesn’t want anything taking away his memories of what’s gone before.

The man never asks for him. He never uses Kurt in the way all of his underlings do. But he’s there. Kurt knows he’s there every time Aldzar looks over his shoulder as if in trepidation and every time Claudio takes a minute too long helping Kurt up from the floor.

After the sex, one of his keepers takes him for his bath. If it’s the nice keeper there is Neosporin after that, and sometimes a shave. If it’s the mean keeper there are other things, crueler things.

Kurt doesn’t think about rescue except for when he does. He doesn’t wonder why they haven’t come for him except in those brief moments between waking and sleeping when his mind is too unguarded to block anything out.

Claudio doesn’t leave his bindings loose again. Kurt doesn’t wonder why.

 _Later_

Kurt doesn’t notice anything’s different at first. And for the most part it isn’t. Different.

He still gets his two sandwiches every day and still gets a bath every night and still has sex somewhere in between. But one day he realizes it’s been Claudio every morning, every afternoon, every night. It’s been Claudio even on the nights when the sex is with Claudio.

He starts paying attention, then. Realizes that it’s just the three of them rotating Kurt like a piece of meat. Aldzar and Claudio and Scar. Dino and Feario aren’t there, haven’t been there for some time.

The man must be gone too. Kurt can see it in the way Aldzar doesn’t flinch, in the way Claudio tries out new and creative words in the bathroom.

Once Kurt starts paying attention, though, it’s impossible to stop paying attention. Kurt can see the look in Claudio’s eye, what it means—that Claudio thinks he’s in love with Kurt. He can see the way Scar looks entitled now, like he’s won. And he can see the way Aldzar won’t meet his eyes anymore, the way he bites his lip the whole time he’s inside Kurt. He hears the whispered ‘lo siento’s and ‘me perdona’s, and each of them cuts through him like a knife.

He lies down and can’t sleep. Too much information keeps running through his head.

It’s been too long now. Rescue isn’t on the way. Not anymore. They would have come before now if they were coming at all.

Outside a bird squawks, inside it’s too warm. Kurt turns over, then turns again. The magnet jabs him in the side. He sighs, straightens it in his pocket, tries again to turn his brain off.

Kurt keeps the magnet on him always, for sentimental value more than anything else at this point. He knows it’s not good for anything else anymore, Aldzar can’t save him anymore.

But still, every night Kurt moves the magnet to his new jeans and every morning he checks to make sure it’s still there.

He toys with it now, thinking about freedom.

He won’t get rescued, but maybe he can try escape again. Claudio’s been leaving the tape loose, Kurt could try and explore at least.

But over the time he’s been here, he’s caught enough of a glimpse inside the closets to know there’s nothing in any of them that will help him escape, shy of the ridiculous paper clip lock pick idea. One of the closets is a linen closet, old sheets and towels stacked up haphazardly on the shelves. The other is like a giant medicine cabinet, but only containing bandages and other things one could use to patch themselves up.

Kurt starts picking at the tape.

The paper clip idea—he doesn’t think it will work. He’s pretty sure the locks aren’t mechanical. Once, he saw Claudio coming in and Kurt couldn’t help noticing there was a card in his hand that he quickly shoved in his pocket. So it’s electronic. A computer chip, just a little bit of metal the size of his fingernail, the only barrier between Kurt and the outside world.

It’s ironic, that’s what it is.

So Kurt’s only way to freedom involves stealing a card that may or may not allow him to exit and then waiting until he’s tied back up and everyone’s left to quickly free himself and attempt to use the card on a door that may have another form of lock as well. All without whoever he stole the card from noticing it’s missing.

Kurt sighs, tape finally giving out in one long curl.

It won’t work. Even Kurt’s intelligent enough to see all the holes in his plan. But he can’t just keep sitting around doing nothing.

He starts to get up and the magnet digs into his hip again. He bites back a groan, reaches down to shift the magnet—

The magnet.

The magnet _made_ to do things like depolarize and other things that Kurt doesn’t really understand.

But that doesn’t matter. All that matters is it might work. He thinks there’s a chance that it might work.

*

Kurt runs down the hallway pulse beating in his throat. It has to work. It has to. This is the only chance he has left.

The door is just how he remembers, thick metal barring him from the outside world.

Kurt grabs the magnet with trembling fingers and rubs it over the full height of the door. He tries the handle—still locked.

Kurt’s heart sinks a little, but he knows this will work, he knows it will. He just must not be doing it right.

He runs the magnet over the wall to the side of the door, tries the door again. Still nothing.

He tries the other wall, the base of the door, the hinges. None of them work.

Finally he runs it over the handle, twists the magnet all the way around.

He hears a click.

And suddenly he’s panting, heart in his throat. He did it. He figured out how to escape.

He turns the handle with a hand gone slippery with nervous sweat and then he’s taking his first breath of clean air in over a month.

He’s a yard away from the door when he sees Scar bearing down on him with a manic glint in his eyes.

Kurt tries to run, but Scar is there, tries to turn around, but Scar is there. It’s like Scar has multiplied somehow, like there are two of him, or more, just knowing what Kurt’s about to try next.

Suddenly Scar darts forward, and before Kurt can even realize what’s happening, Scar’s hands are circling his.

Scar drags him back into the building. Kurt feels every bump etched into his skin.

*

Kurt is bound to the pipe just like always, but this time he isn’t left there. Instead Scar is there, kicking him and punching him and making him feel like he’s never going to make it through the night.

Scar pulls down his pants, and Kurt knows what comes next.

But he’s forgotten lately how bad it was the first time. He’s forgotten how much worse it was when there wasn’t lubricant, when there wasn’t the safety measure of Aldzar’s watching eyes.

Scar thrusts into him brutally. It makes Kurt feel torn in two. But that’s nothing, nothing at all, in comparison to Scar’s hand suddenly closing around Kurt’s penis. His fingernails cut into Kurt’s scrotum, tug until it feels as if he’ll actually pull it off.

Kurt cries, sobs into the cold tile of the floor. He bites his tongue, chokes out pained animal noises around the lump in his throat.

It hurts _so bad_.

Scar thrusts harder and pulls harder and slaps Kurt’s head into the wall. As he blacks out, he thinks, _I wish I was dead,_ and spends a second hoping he’ll never wake back up.

 _The next day_

Kurt wakes up. That’s the first thing to go wrong. The second is that he wakes up taped to the safety bar in the bathroom.

He’s naked and there’s tape over his mouth and his feet are somehow taped to the sides of the bathtub. He’s spread obscenely for anyone to see.

For a second he wonders if Scar killed Aldzar and Claudio, dumped the bodies in some river somewhere. But then he remembers what Claudio had been like the day before, how he’d held Kurt a little tighter to him, held him a little longer. And then he gets it.

They must have left. Claudio and Aldzar must have left him here. Alone. With Scar.

It makes Kurt want to scream at them, want to swear dirty invectives at them from the top of his lungs.

And then Feario walks into the bathroom.

Kurt didn’t think the situation could get any worse, but now he’s pretty sure it has. Feario is unstable, terrifying despite his youth. Feario scares Kurt worse than Scar most days.

When Feario steps closer, Kurt can smell the alcohol on him. Kurt can see the red lining his eyes, the manic glint now gone predatory.

He pulls out a knife, holds it to Kurt’s throat.

He fucks Kurt like that, knife digging little divots into Kurt’s neck.

Kurt tries not to breath. If he’s lucky, maybe he’ll suffocate himself.

 _That night_

Scar comes in when it’s dark out. He looks at Kurt and starts to smile. It makes Kurt cry a little, that smile. It’s not the kind of smile that precedes anything good.

He takes his penis out, and that’s it. If anyone fucks him again it actually will kill him. He’s bleeding, he can feel it. If Scar fucks him he will bleed to death. From his ass.

But Scar isn’t hard. And he doesn’t step into the bathtub, he just leans over it. And then he’s—

He—

He _urinates_ all over Kurt. He wets Kurt’s leg, streams over Kurt’s belly, then it’s up over his chest to his face.

It gets up Kurt’s nose. Trickles over his skin until it covers everyplace that wasn’t already hit.

It’s the most disgusting thing Kurt’s ever experienced.

Scar laughs afterwards, carefree, like a child.

Kurt cries silent tears until they won’t come anymore. He cries for a long time.

 _The next day_

His bladder gives out around dawn. He doesn’t know why he’s holding out, he’s already covered in urine anyway, but it feels wrong somehow to just let go like that.

Feario comes by around noon and eats tamales in front of Kurt.

Kurt’s stomach is empty a hollowed out hole in his body. He wouldn’t feel less like eating if Finn offered him one of his famous donkey sandwiches. Made with donkey.

It seems to make Feario angry, that Kurt’s not reacting enough. He takes his belt from his pants, uses it as a makeshift whip. He hits Kurt’s thighs and belly until they’re fire-engine red, and then he turns the belt over, uses the buckle end. The buckle bites into Kurt’s stomach, tears cuts into Kurt’s thighs.

When he’s done, Feario slips the belt end into the buckle. He slips the looped belt over Kurt’s head until it’s around Kurt’s throat. He pulls and Kurt can’t get air, can’t breathe. His breath already impeded with the tape covering his mouth, it’s less than a minute before Kurt’s vision goes gray around the edges.

Kurt blacks out, knowing he won’t come back from this.

*

Kurt wakes up. Kurt wakes up to Scar fucking him hard and raw.

Kurt doesn’t understand it at first. He doesn’t believe it. No one would be able to stand how disgusting, how _dirty_ Kurt is like this.

He thinks it’s a dream. He must be dreaming.

But when Scar pushes in, it hurts. When he pulls out it hurts. Every inch of Kurt hurts, head banging into the tub, stomach and thighs stinging from the cuts and the sweat and the urine, neck burning like a brand.

Scar licks Kurt’s face.

Kurt wants to vomit.

Scar shoves in hard enough that Kurt’s head smacks into the tub.

Kurt blacks out.

*

Kurt wakes up to the tape being ripped from his face, a hand bracing his jaw.

He takes a breath to scream, reflexively.

And then he feels it, liquid rushing into his mouth, down his throat.

He chokes on it, then, when he realizes what it is, he chokes some more.

It’s tequila, thick and rotten on his tongue. It burns his throat, his mouth, makes his eyes water.

The stream lets up after a minute or so, but as soon as Kurt gets another breath, more tequila spills down his throat.

He tries to free himself from the hand holding his mouth open, tries to jerk himself away, but the grip is firm, relentless.

He looks up and sees Feario staring back at him. He passes out.

*

He wakes up to a loud noise. There are voices in the distance, words he can’t hear well enough to understand.

The voices get louder, then they grow fainter again.

It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.

Only, Kurt’s been here for a while now. For a long time. And he doesn’t recognize the voices. They aren’t Aldzar or Claudio. Not Feario or Scar, either.

After a while, it doesn’t matter. The voices go away. Kurt is about to drop back off, vision still blurry with the alcohol, when the door wrenches open.

Kurt sees him through a fog. It’s a man with a big black mustache and big black sunglasses. He’s in a black short-sleeved shirt and black slacks. And when he sees Kurt he gasps and says something in short sharp bursts.

Suddenly there are more men, exactly like the first, three of them, five, all around Kurt.

One of them gets a knife from his boot and cuts the tape from Kurt’s feet. Another one pulls the tape from where it apparently made a reappearance on Kurt’s mouth.

In the background the voices rise and fall in quick succession. The men move around the room, eyes tracking everything, mouths moving at a speed Kurt’s brain can’t track.

And then Kurt’s being lifted up, one man grabbing his feet, the other grabbing his shoulders.

They carry him out of the bathroom and through the great room. They carry him down the hall. And, finally, they carry him out the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case anyone was wondering, no, the magnet would _not_ work to open that lock, at least so far as I can tell. There are magnetic lock picks, but they don't seem to actually work.


End file.
